There'll Be Another Time
by TriagonalSign
Summary: NOTE: RENAMED FROM 'LAZYTOWN CHRONICLES. Life in Lazytown, now that the school year and more responsibilities are starting to occupy the minds of the kids in Lazytown. Borrows historical context from oneshot: History of Lazytown. I do not own Lazytown, if I did I'd be getting off my arse and making more episodes. Being regularly updated. SportaSteph.
1. Chapter 1

Lazytown Chronicles

 **Hi guys! This is my first actual story, so any feedback in extremely important. I like to be quite descriptive and take plots slowly, rather than have much drama condensed into a small amount of chapters. Please review. Note: Story borrows historical context from my oneshot: History of Lazytown.**

 **Please enjoy!**

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Sportacus dived into the pool. He felt the cool, refreshing, encapsulating rush of the water, as he entered a world where he was flying. The short surge of water around his muscular body seemed to wash more than his sweat, but also his worries, and responsibilities, if for a short while. The pool was the only place, for this reason, where Sportacus could truly relax, and still stay active. As he lost track of time as he swam laps, he began thinking, especially about his friends, the kids, In Lazytown. They weren't kids anymore though. The group of friends was all to turn, or had already turned 14, save Ziggy, who was still on 12, but he tried not to let it show. Sportacus had been needed less and less for saving them, and more for a quick chat, a round of sports, or some help with homework. Somehow, he felt that he was becoming less of a hero, and more of a mentor to these kids. It didn't bother him. It was his responsibility to help out, if asked, any way possible. Besides, there were other kids in Lazytown, and the bumbling Mayor Meanswell would be perpetually in need of his services. Sportacus stopped swimming, as he reached the end of the pool again.

He quickly took a swig of water from his oddly shaped bottle, and panned the pool. It was empty. The Lazytown pool only really had any visitors during the weekends, during the day, as swim schools and relaxing teenagers would fill the pool to relax. During weekdays, especially at night, the water was empty. The water, also having the minimum amount of chlorine, was crystal clear. It was something of a metaphor to help Sportacus remind himself of what he should be. As he looked down, he could see his legs, and the tiles, with hardly any refraction, as the water slowed and became as quiet as the most tranquil of streams. Sportacus sighed. Being transparent, for him, especially emotion-wise, was hard. He felt that through being so 'awesome' and 'fast' and 'incredible', according to the town, he felt as if he had to uphold such pretentions. The town, unknowingly, raised his expectations of himself to be above that of a normal human, which he was definitely not above. Emotion seemed like a barren world away for him, in a cell his mind had locked and isolated in his mind, on a metaphorical Alcatraz. And yet, it was always trying to swim to land, always attempting to make its way down to his mouth, or at least into his subconscious. He felt that fighting it was becoming harder and harder each passing day.

He looked at his watch. It was only 2:45, but looking at the sky at this time of year, it might as well have been 10 at night. It was late autumn on the island of Joanna, and he had promised to help Stephanie and Trixie, who were working together on a school project for textiles, within the next half hour, just after the end of school. With that thought shoving him back into reality, out of the pool, where he felt the chill of the cold air, harshly chilling his skin. _'Reality is the coldest truth of all.'_ He thought to himself. After a quick shower, Sportacus grabbed his change of clothes, not his hero suit, but a singlet, and t-shirt over the top, with tracksuit pants underneath. His T-Shirt, like all his clothes, had the brace on the chest for his crystal, which he slotted in, with a satisfying _click._ Donning his hat, placing his goggles over it, and sliding his shoes on, he left the pool, the turnstile making a _thunk_ as he left.

Pixel was frustrated. Feigning sickness to school to dedicate more time to work wasn't working. His school project was hitting a major speed hump. Even in an Accelerated Information & Software Technology course (IST), his mind was still being tested, as he input countless lines of code onto his keyboard, working methodically, like the machine he was operating. This wasn't a technical issue. In fact, it had nothing to do with his project at all. It was Pixel himself who needed fixing. He hadn't slept in 2 days. What he had optimistically referred to as his sleep cycle, ( _something that was so warped that it didn't qualify to even an insomniac as a cycle),_ had been broken again. Pixel always found it hard to keep a routine in general, and sleeping was the worst part of that habit, or lack thereof. Being this tired, expending the effort to go to school and engage in social norms would be too taxing. He sighed, as he typed in the long overdue 'execute' command into the command prompt, and he watched as the files organised themselves and his programs went about their work, and he filled in his logbook, something that he would need to show his teacher. Keeping at the top of the IST class, and being 2 years younger than all the others students, plus having to keep up on other school work, was taking a heavy toll on his wellbeing. It had been like this for months, ever since the school year started for him. His parents lived out of town, sending him money every fortnight, which he used to buy food and other amenities. The isolation was really hacking him off; it was starting to have an effect on him. At first, he had enjoyed the freedom and isolation his situation threw at him, but more so felt lonely over months. Before he went into 7th grade, he had had plenty of time to socialise with his friends, but high school was starting to take that away from him. He sighed again, and looked around him. Half-scrunched up bags of crisps lined the far wall, and cans of energy drink, which he had tried to futilely tried to substitute sleep for, were scattered around his recycling bin, his throws becoming constantly more inaccurate as he forced himself to stay awake.

" _Sportacus would never approve"._ He thought to himself. His eyes were starting to feel like they were hooked up to his dumbbells. His mind was on its last legs, as he then leaned his chair back, and slid into his bed, in one fluid motion, wasting little of what energy he had left. Pixel then muttered, to no one in particular.

" _Maybe I should talk to Sportacus about this, he always has a schedule. That's it, I'm talking to him in the morning."_

With that, he glanced at his digital clock on his bedside table, which in eerie green glow, which seemed to show 00:51. Pixel thought to himself.

" _Damn, must have spent a lot of time to be in the small hours already."_

Satisfied he had dedicated enough hours to his work, he pulled the covers over himself and drifted off, his hand knocking the digital clock to the floor, and it landed upside down, upon which, it corrected the previously incorrect display, finally proving how out-of-touch Pixel really was with the rotation of the planet.

Ziggy looked up from his paper. The clock ticked. Another bead of sweat trickled down his face, as he furiously scribbled in answers and filled in bubbles. He couldn't fail this math test, not another one. Being at the bottom of his maths class, failing this meant not being able to show face to his classmates for all the remaining math classes for the year, let alone his parents. He wasn't sure if Pixel and the others would understand either. The clock ticked again, the long hand teasing the _5_ on the clock, as the end of the allotted time for the test came nearer and nearer. Ziggy, quickly flipped over to the last page, hoping for an easy question, only to face a number series question, requiring extensive mental firepower to answer:

 _0, 0, 3, 8, x, 24. Solve for x._

 _X=__

He mentally cursed. He was never good at math, especially logic puzzles. Sure, formulas could be remembered, but just using critical analysis on a set of numbers never came naturally to the boy. Forgetting about the clock, he just thought for a moment, about the question.

 _Ugh, what relates all these numbers? Two zeroes?...Not getting anything. Of course, Stephanie breezed this test when she was sitting it, two years ago. Why am I so hopeless?_

Ziggy looked at the question once more, and, with a half-confident analysis, he scribbled some illegible working, and solved the question. Not one moment sooner after he had finished writing, he let the pen fall flat on the paper, which made a satisfying sound as it made contact with the paper. With that, he regained his composure, and looked around. His classmates had all finished their tests, and were merely flipping through the pages, double checking their calculations, a luxury Ziggy couldn't afford. He sank into his chair. He had expended so much effort, listening to the helpful, kind tuition from Stephanie, and had Sportacus drum up his self-esteem and help him fix his sleep cycle in previous weeks. Failing this test, in spite of this effort he had dedicated, would crush him.

Then, the loud, shrill ring of the schoolbell echoed throughout the school. Ziggy, in a flash, put away his stationery and zipped up his bag, before the others had even put down their pens. The teacher, Mrs. Davis, stood up, and placed her hands on her desk.

" _Alright students, pens down, stop writing, ensure your name and class is on your paper and you deliver it…."_

Ziggy rushed down the aisles, his loose bag straps slapping the sides of desks as he went, and almost dropped his paper on Mrs Davis' desk, rushing out the door, before she could finish her sentence.

" _On my desk…."_

She huffed in frustration, but let Ziggy go. After this, the class in a semi-orderly fashion, stacked their papers on her desk, and trying to squeeze out the door, two abreast, bags colliding as they did, as they joined the flow of students filing out of their classrooms in the corridor.

Ziggy was already at the front gate as the others left the building. He didn't like the clatter and the mindless " _How was the test?" or "What did you get for question…" or "Hey! How's it going?"_ questions, especially after a mentally taxing exam. Besides, he hadn't had many friends for two years in his school. Ever since Stingy, Trixie, Stephanie and Pixel had left for high school, Ziggy felt like a log floating on a sea, with the flattest of horizons. He didn't care where he ended up, just that he needed to stay afloat and not be engulfed and drown from F's. As he boarded the school bus, he sat down next the window, on the last row, where the vibration and heat from the engine would surely keep him warm. He stared, towards the darkening sky. As he stared, he realised that the school year was coming to an end, and maybe, just maybe, when that happened, his piece of driftwood would see the silhouette of land on the horizon…

Lachlan Devlin sat in his rather expansive room. Many would have very reasonably called it a small unit. He looked around. His room was absolutely pristine, tatamount to his obsession over cleanliness and organization. His computer was right up to date, having cost his parents over £3000, and his bed would have accommodated 3 people abreast, in sumptuous comfort. For just him, it was overkill. His wardrobe harboured more suits that possibly anyone in town, and his piggy bank, now more of a talisman than to hold money, which he now kept in a safe behind a painting, was sitting, imploringly, on his desk, staring at him. Despite living in luxury however, Stingy felt….. _different,_ and sparsely..sad. His father was a successful businessman in Dublin, working as an accountant for some corporations stationed in the European tax haven, and his mother, the only relative he lived with, stayed at home with him, although his uncle would pop in time to time, as he was an engineer, working on an offshore oil rig near Newfoundland. His uncle was a kind-hearted man, who would come back, with his characteristic chiseled beard, and a stout build, and a whiff of sea salt and crude oil followed him. Stingy's mother loved him unconditionally, as if he were the world itself. She taught him as many things as she knew, but ultimately, the void left unfilled by his father could never be substituted. Stingy once had to, rather reluctantly, swallow his pride when he asked Sportacus how to wear a suit properly, and how to write essays. Of course, Sportacus was always there to help, but Stingy would always wonder whether his father would have done the same. It had been this way for as long as he could remember.

Pushing aside the brief mental lapse, Stingy went back to his History Assignment. It was about the Irish Potato famine, and the repercussions it had around the world. Stingy lucked out with this one, all he had to do was dig up ancestral log books from when his ancestors left Ireland for Joanna Island, when blight destroyed potato crops throughout Ireland. He typed in a topic sentence there, an evaluation there, and finally, his conclusion, as he wrapped up three days of hard work. After citing his sources, rather satisfyingly, to himself, and his own family, he turned off his computer, and decided to go hang out with Pixel. He dialed his number, but he did not get a response. Stingy wasn't surprised; Pixel probably was hard at work or asleep. With that, he shrugged his shoulders, and decided to check the latest in financial news.

Trixie Burgess was in a hurry. She had to gather up her papers, and some of her sample textiles, before she had to dash off to Stephanie's, where the two had agreed to work on progressing their project. It wasn't due for weeks, but Stephanie had insisted that, because she didn't have any spare time to 'hang out' or work on it in following weeks, they had agreed on finishing the collaborative section of the project. Trixie didn't really have that much interest in textiles, she was very much a tomboy, (she even wore trousers to school, rather than the dress that the school recommended) and would have paired with a different classmate, to work on metalwork instead, were it not for the boys that would always try and dominate the project if they were paired up with anyone of the opposing gender, a sort of ' _pissing contest'_ as her father had put it.

She chuckled silently at the thought. Her father had always been the closer parent. Her mother wasn't exactly a witch, but she didn't show the affection or paid the attention she received from her father, which to her, from watching plenty of television, and listening to Stingy, was kind of a strange concept to her. She had always thought of the stereotypical father to be a less affectionate parental figure. Then, as she was fumbling throughout her wardrobe, she pulled out a sheet, which had once been white, but had faded from misuse. The main reason for the misuse became obvious, once one noticed the googly eyes drawn on it, to resemble a ghost. Embarrassed, she stuffed it behind her other clothes. She then glanced over at her school uniform. Out of almost a hundred girls at her high school, only her and a select few wore trousers, the rest opting for the white dress the school sold to them. (Except Stephanie, often use mixing her dress and red clothes in the washing machine as an excuse). Her mother had protested, but ultimately, it was her father, and some input from Sportacus which had saved her. Boys at school would often avoid her, instead either flirting with some more, feminine females or sticking together in their small gangs. She was sometimes bullied for it to, as some boys would offhandedly call her 'trans' or a 'crossdresser'. It hurt, and she talked to a therapist, who was pretty damn sure she wasn't a transgender. She had agreed too. Ultimately, her choice of attire was down to trying to be unique, something that school didn't seem to encourage in her. But the price was isolation. She some very good friends in her inner circle, many being the other tomboys in the school, but although her circle was watertight, it wasn't very large and didn't have much variation in character either. She wanted to change that, but it was hard. The compromise between quantity and quality didn't strike her a worthwhile exchange. Also, her choice in attire was that she didn't like… _girls_ in general. The gossip, makeup, social media and other topics like that didn't strike her fancy. She liked what boys liked, cars, electronics, games, and the like. But in the end, her strategy of fitting in with boys was backfiring. With that rather somber thought, she hefted up her bulging schoolbag and set out for Stephanie's.

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 **Please don't shoot me for the British terminology, I swear, it's not my fault!**

 **Also, anyone who figures out the answer to Ziggy's question gets a cookie, pwomise. ;)**


	2. Chapter 2

LZT Chronicles Chapter 2

 **Hi chapter. Not much to say. Just that the time it takes for you to read this, and digest it, you could have made an account on Fanfiction (if you haven't already) and reviewed this. I will answer all questions. Enjoy!**

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It was cold in his house. The shoddy metal panels used in its structure didn't help one bit insulate him. Cold air permeated around cracks in the walls, and through the roof, as bit at him, constantly keeping him awake. It was another frustrating day for the town 'villain', but not for the reason that one might have assumed years ago. Robbie 'Rotten' Karl had his prize invention rejected by the patent office in England. It was a regulatory nightmare for any inventor. Robbie had pioneered his rather crude and overspecialized 'Candy Faker Maker' into a much more streamlined device that, if used correctly, could manufacture toffee apples and other sweets on a level of automation beyond current industrial capability. The patent office had simply dismissed the design as being too similar to that of a fruit processor, which struck Robbie as odd. Of course, his reputation as being a less-than-generous person could always have been a factor, but Robbie had tried to distance himself from it. Sure, he and Sportacus weren't exactly best mates, but they had clashed consistently fewer times every year since Stephanie arrived in Lazytown. Robbie still harboured his villainous streak though, and always tried to expend as little effort as possible, a trait evident in his inventions, which had enormous emphasis on automation.

He sat down in his orange chair made of fluff. It was still as soft and comfortable as it had always been. He watched his home-built vacuum robot doing its paces, cleaning in a straight line, bumping into a wall of table leg, and setting off on a different trajectory. Robbie didn't see automation as outright laziness, but more as an increase in overall efficiency. For instance, the fact that he had several robots all tending to his menial housework matters, without even hesitating at any command, was comforting to him. He liked to have a certain degree of control, more so than others in general. While he could hear the muffled beep and some clatter from his washing machine, he relaxed in his chair, with a bowl of packaging peanuts, something that still hadn't given him cancer or poisoning, and read the latest edition of "Inventor's Digest". He had once found it strange he paid more attention to the opinions of people he'd never met but shared a common interest, rather than his now distant family, who he hardly cared about anymore. But as the isolation became terminal, he had gotten used to it. What he didn't realise, sitting in that chair of his, was that he was happier, than a large proportion of the town. Of course, if he did know, that would have made him happier still. Robbie looked down from his magazine, as he noticed his cleaning bot had gotten one of its tracks caught on his trouser, and was tugging on it. With the slightest effort, he let it free, to do its rounds. With that, he intently read a new section, covering the most likely areas of innovative leaps in the next decade.

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 _Pink, is not a spectral colour. It is a shade of white and red, and because white is not considered its own colour, any colours that consist of white as a shade cannot be deemed a spectral colour. Pink, like many non-spectral colours, are simply an illusion to the eye, a sort of half-half compromise made by our retinas to differentiate it from plain red and white. In scientific terms, this means the colour does not exist as a wavelength of visible light._

A soft hand closed the textbook, sliding in a bookmark, of blue-and-white stripes, into the page. Stephanie was writing a report to show her Design and Technology (D&T) teacher the various shades and colours (mainly pink) she had designed for a dress. With help from Pixel, she had managed to present the dress graphically, and finishing off the report about colours, she had to incorporate some element of science to her design, for the sake of interesting her teacher, if nothing else. The dress wasn't any dress. It was in fact, a wedding dress, as she had presented pink as a sort of bond between white and red, to create this shade. Of course, that link only occurred to her after she chose it. Like almost every girl her age, she wanted to have a grand wedding someday, wearing a glamourous, beautiful dress, and having an eternal bond with someone she loved. Naturally, like many, she had a crush. Reality had always reminded her it was a pipe dream anyway, but she couldn't stop herself thinking of what it would be like….

She shook her head.

 _I'm getting sidetracked again, I need to stop this. Ugh, maybe designing a ball gown would have been better; I might have been able to concentrate. Now's not the time to relent to infatuation._

The short burst of willpower to stay concentrated when she realised that it was almost time, and that her friend would be showing up sooner or later. She didn't actually know how much Sportacus could help in terms of her project. He had been good at math, but she was already rather proficient at that, and writing was a breeze. Of all her close friends, she had, in terms of studies, needed Sportacus less than any of them, and that in a way made her feel sad. He really was a good friend, but he never divulged in emotions, or told her anything he wouldn't tell others. In other words, he humoured everyone he talked to (to try and compensate for the fact that he would always be better), as if they were all in need of the same pep-talk, or encouragement. She hated that. Sportacus always kept friends close, but no friends closer than any other. Stephanie knew she was being selfish, something that had always been a world away in her character, but this was an exception, and it was beginning to consume her from the depths of her conscience.

Stephanie than felt a small buzz from her phone, and realised she had another message from someone at school. It was another boy from his class. Being considered a kind hearted angel attracted the attention from every guy in the school, some being more vocal than others. Some would glance over their shoulders in class, and some would go as far as sending her crude and rather cringeworthy attempts at worming their way into her inner circle. She despised it. She had always tried to be kind, friendly, and understanding of everyone, just like what her uncle and late parents had taught her. Yet somehow, this would only attract more attention from other, hormone fueled texts from boys who were emotionally blindsided by puberty. It wasn't easy sailing on her side of the gender divide either. She had friends she would hang out with, but sometimes, some other girls at school, out of spite and jealousy, would call her names and mock her for her obsession with pink. It was easy to forget, but at the same time, it stuck inside her conscience whenever the lunch bell rang.

She made an evasive " _I'm alright, but I'm up the neck in work."_ and closed her phone. She didn't add any _'sometime later'_ or ' _We'll talk tomorrow',_ she didn't want to encourage them to text back. It didn't help much, but it made her feel more secure inside. The doorbell rang. She stiffened in her chair.

' _Hey Pinky! I'm heeeere!'_ called a voice.

Stephanie stifled a small chuckle. Only Trixie used such an innocent nickname for her. She made her way to the front of the house, opened the door, and gave a quick hug to her best friend. In terms of hobby and interest predilections, they were worlds apart, but still, they stuck together, like the north and south ends on a magnet. The two quickly exchanged pleasantries, and discussed their project. While Trixie removed her winter hat, Stephanie waited at the front window, waiting for Sportacus. Were it not for the freezing cold, she would have waited for him on the footpath outside her house, but that would have only received a patronising ' _You'll get a cold out here, next time wait inside.',_ but also a heartwarming smile that she would treasure each time she saw it. She pressed her nose against the window, and looked down to see it slightly flatten against the glass. It was very cold, even if it was double glazed, and several millimetres thick. The heat from her nose seemed to wash away, and her alertness would have too, if at that very moment, a blue figure had not vaulted over her front yard fence. She opened the door before his large fingers made contact with it.

" _I've been expecting you."_ She told him as he smiled. It was true to a higher degree than what it sounded. The wistfulness was barely stifled, as she gave him a warm hug, and led him inside.

" _What can I help you with Stephanie?"_ Sportacus asked.

 _Many things, but this project will have to come first._ She stopped, and mentally slapped herself at the thought.

"Trixie's already arrived, I just asked you to come and help me make a few decisions designing my dress."

Sportacus smiled, and her heart fluttered. She led him into her study room, where Trixie, upon seeing Sportacus, stopped fiddling with Stephanie's several pink pens. Her room wasn't large, it was in fact, quite small, and she had always found it slightly an annoyance whenever she had to maneuver around and store objects like a printer. Now though, it was a major advantage she had over being in other rooms. The closeness, almost intimacy, excited her. Sportacus was surprised she was designing a wedding dress, and helped her tweak certain parts. Of course, he was never more than suggestive of his ideas, always staying below the threshold of obligatory change to Stephanie's dress. Despite this however, Stephanie acquiesced to every single idea he suggested, despite some menial protest from Sportacus. She enjoyed that too. For that time, Trixie was labelled the scribe, simply writing each design feature of the dress, while Stephanie had Sportacus on the hot seat, and doing as many things as she could to stop him from leaving. Trixie started to open her eyes to what was unfolding in front of her, and she didn't like it. But she shut her own trap. _This isn't my business…yet._ With that, Trixie kept writing, and continuously checking her grammar.

After about an hour of refining the design, Trixie, saying she had to go home and study for her final exam, left, leaving the pair sitting together. It had been months since the last time this was the case, and Stephanie savoured every moment. She didn't need his help with math, and Sportacus knew it, but again, humoured her, and spilled his mind of his knowledge on surds, algebra, and probability. Stephanie felt her subconscious burning as she tried to surpress it and she hated having to hold back. He was merely centimetres away; a quick, snappy, fluid move would make him hers. The fact that he was always so close, and never intimate, or even suggested it, was so annoying, it was the ultimate emotional tease.

" _Remember, that if there in any case, all probabilities must add up to 100%, so for instance, let's use question 6; if there are 4 boxes, choosing the one with a ring inside will be 25…"_

He stopped explaining as he noticed Stephanie stopped feigning focus, as she turned her head and looked intently at his blue eyes. He smiled, again, and tapped the paper, to try and make her focus. Instead, Stephanie just stood still, and Sportacus chucked.

" _I think you understand now Stephanie. You'll do fine for your final maths test next week. Is there any else you need my help with?"_

 _Oh yes, you wouldn't believe what you-_

She blinked. Again. One last time. Stephanie's mind, after finally scrambling a form of damage control, realised her situation. She mentally cursed, and sunk back down into her desk. Sportacus then patted her on the shoulder reassuringly, and stood up.

" _No, that'll be fine, I understand completely now."_ She said that truthfully, and yet somehow it didn't feel like she was actually telling the truth.

Stephanie stood up also, and gave him a quick hug. He felt so _warm_ and Stephanie felt so small and insignificant in his huge arms. It only lasted a few seconds, before Sportacus smiled again, and left, boots thudding against the wooden floor. Stephanie silently reprimanded herself for losing control over her emotions. She was in at odds, a sort of wrestle between her emotion and rational halves of her subconscious. Was it a mere crush she had, or was it more involved than that? She sat there, as the two forces in her mind battled it stopped, and slapped her forehead lightly as if she was the police force coming in to break up the fight.

 _I have to focus on my studies, I can't think about this now. Sportacus wouldn't want that, I should always try to do what-_

She stopped, and she realised it had happened again. She let out a small growl, and slapped her maths book, to release her frustration. Milford Meanswell, who had just arrived home, heard the thump, and knocked on Stephanie's door- a custom that Stephanie had insisted on since the beginning of high school, one that her uncle had quickly agreed to.

' _Come in!'_

" _Stephanie! I just heard something, what's wrong?"_

Stephanie lied through her teeth.

" _Nothing's wrong uncle! I just dropped my textbook. Thanks for asking though."_

She let out a fake smile, and her uncle, convinced, reminded her that dinner was coming along, and left her alone, much to her relief.

Stephanie made a note then, to try suppressing her emotions, if at least for a little while.

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The next week was a tense time for all of them. The high schoolers were getting their exams finished and marked, but for Ziggy, it was the moment of truth. Mrs David started to hand out their math exam results to them, with some remarks.

" _Well done Pauline."_

" _A slight improvement, Frederick."_

" _Need more effort Rex."_

She got to Ziggy. His heart skipped a beat, and sweat trickled down his face.

"Siegfried" she began, using his official name. It sounded alien to him; Ziggy was always more at home for him.

" _Good effort, you've turned around your marks around."_

Ziggy breathed out, and saw a big red B+ on his paper. He sighed in relief. Angelo, who was sitting to his right, laughed.

" _Good show Zig"_

" _Thanks Angelo."_

Now, Ziggy could go home to his parents, and feel better. Now, he wouldn't be mocked by some of the higher performers in Maths. The effort he had put into studying had finally come through. He even got the last question right, which surprised him. School was about to end, but Ziggy decided to join in discussing the questions, not to really figure out what he got wrong and why, but just to fit in with his other classmates without being mocked. It made him feel much better. The sense of accomplishment was blissful. Then, a moment before the schoolbell rang, Mrs David quietened to class, to give them one last farewell.

" _Boys, Girls, Students. Thank you for a wonderful year. Today is not the end for you. It is not even close to beginning the end. But your beginning in school is finished."_

Everyone smiled. They would too miss their teacher. That was soon forgotten however, when the last bell of the year rang, as it echoed through the cold, frosty air, battling against sleet to make it into the eager, expecting ears of the children. They donned their winter hats, and coats, and filed out of the school, many of their parents in similar attire waiting for them, with open arms, embarrassing many of the year 6's. Ziggy's cousin was there too. Monica was and had always been a compassionate cousin. She was much like Sportacus, but more of an emotional mentor. She had never failed to lift Ziggy's spirits, much so that even when Ziggy saw her, he felt better, and this was no exception.

She laughed, as Ziggy hugged her. " _How's my little cousin doing, coming out of primary school huh?"_

Ziggy smiled, and waved his paper in front of her hazel eyes, which lit up.

" _Ziggy, I knew you could do it. No substitute for hard work is there?"_

" _I'm glad, but I need to pick up my game for next year."_

Monica was about to say something, but looked around, and saw the crowd faltering, as they all left.

" _Come on Zig, its way too cold out here; let's go home before you freeze."_

Ziggy agreed, and so did the back of his ankles as they felt the harsh winter breeze. Monica led them to her car, which was beat up, but still had a properly functioning heater. It felt good on Ziggy's cold hands. It's often difficult to determine the temperature of your hands until you touch something, which was something Ziggy never learned in Science. Oh well, who says you can only learn at school?

Phillip quickly risked a furtive glance at Trixie. He liked how she was so rebellious against the status quo, like society meant jack to her choices. It was addictive, watching her walk like any of the boys, and some boys even avoided her because they felt threatened by her figurative presence on their side of the gender divide. Phillip decided that this Christmas would be a good time to start getting closer to her. He wasn't exactly sure of what to do, but he had a goal set in mind. Then, without sparing another moment, he walked down the stairs, and left the high school.

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 **Please read and review. Don't disappoint me =)**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

 **Hi guys! I don't know what to really write here. Um, yeah, read and review. I'm updating pretty quickly, hopefully I can squeeze one more chapter in before I go on holiday for a fortnight.**

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The gang gathered in Stingy's ridiculously sized living room. It was comparable to a basketball court. Luxury oozed out of every corner, from the old antique, priceless furniture, kept in protective plastic wrapping to prevent decay, and the high-end plasma television, almost two metres across, as well as the walls adorned with different, golden framed pictures, most of Stingy's father during business conferences. Naturally, Stingy had insisted the others remove their shoes, and disinfect and wash their hands. Being a control freak, he liked it when people didn't protest what he asked for, as well as following his standard. This wasn't news to anyone really, but he had gotten better at concealing and streamlining his character while in school. His teachers had opened his eyes when they studied the Great Depression, showing the consequences of greed, and how money was so unevenly distributed in the world. Stingy always felt uncomfortable facing his Commerce teacher, who was a single mother of three, living paycheck to paycheck. He had started to reform his mind in his opening years in high school. Suddenly, when applying this new mental philosophy, hacking away at his materialistic values, Stingy found himself to be a much more likeable person; not just to others, but to himself. His conscience was becoming more and more transparent. Spiritually, he was healing.

Pixel, Stephanie, Trixie and their host sat on some extremely comfortable recliners in front of the television, sinking into the floaty chairs, and relaxing. As a contrast to their relatively cluttered homes and classrooms, having the privilege to spread out and hoard as much space as possible without being reprimanded was blissful, especially Stephanie, who had barely enough space in her room to manoeuvre. Then, after a minute, enjoying the silence and the pleasure of the space, Pixel spoke up:

" _So um, where's Ziggy?"_

Stingy glanced over from his recliner, which, naturally, was _his_ , and slightly wider, even though he didn't require the freedom it provided. He lazily moved his head.

" _He texted me, told me he'd be late, apparently there was a queue to Sportacus' mailbox. Oh, I forgot, he sent me a picture too."_

Stingy lifted up his phone, the latest on the market, it was sleek and refined, although only Pixel could really tell the difference between it and the previous generation. Trixie scoffed.

" _Showoff"_

" _Jealous"_

Pixel, always being the diplomatic one, gave Trixie a nudge, before it escalated.

" _Go on Stingy"_

Trixie sat back down, and breathed out heavily, as if disengaging from her short confrontation. She then opened her mouth before Stingy unlocked his phone.

" _Probably another selfie from Ziggy. He sends a dozen a month, ever since he got that new phone of his. It's ridiculous."_

Stingy scrolled though his pictures, mostly screenshots of financial news, with the odd selfie and group photo, and selected it, before looking at it.

" _Huh, long line for our hero Sportacus. Probably a lot of well-wishes and other holiday-spirit stuff."_

Pixel, Trixie and Stephanie looked at the photo. Trixie laughed, while the pink haired girl just stared at the photo, studying it.

" _Damn, looks like the line on the Bachelor, hahaha"_ Trixie pointed to the phone. Pixel then spoke.

" _Yep, our hero sure is popular, especially with the ladies, am I right? Stephanie, what do you think? Stephanie? You okay?"_

Stephanie stopped staring at the photo. Ziggy in the foreground had been ignored by everyone, despite his infectious, innocent smile, and his adorable oversized winter hat that looked like a blanket on his head. She made a quick comment before the others would realise what she was thinking.

" _It's the holiday spirit. Besides, Ziggy looks cute in the hat. I hope he gets here soon though, temperature's starting to drop."_ The comment had a matter-of-fact tone about it. Pixel and Stingy, not really understanding the opposite gender, just nodded in agreement, while Trixie stiffened slightly, as her mind raced. Stephanie had made such an evasive comment, it was starting to solidify her speculation.

Stingy the week before had invited everyone over to his place, on the last day of school. This was definitely unusual, but the gang understood the occasion, and didn't ask a question, assuming it would just be a time to get together and have fun. Before he could disclose his agenda though, Trixie's phone rang in her pocket, which she quickly fished out. Trixie realised who it was and smiled slightly.

" _Yes, hello, Trixie here. Oh Phil! Hey! Yeah, I'm doing okay. You are too? That's good. Oh ?sure, where you wanna meet up? Oh—Really!? That's so nice of you; I've always wanted to see that. You're too nice to me. Alright, I'll see you later."_

Stephanie blinked, and looked at the confused faces on the faces of the boys. She had never heard Trixie sound so bright and cheerful on the phone with anyone in general, let alone boys. Stingy spoke up, looking interested in something for the first time since the group had entered his home and Trixie, being Trixie, had almost forgotten to wash her hands.

" _So, Trix, the million-dollar question: Why are you going out with Phillip? And judging from the expressions on Pixel and Stephanie's faces, how did you keep this under the radar and for how long?"_

Trixie looked back at them innocently. She chucked slightly, as she glanced at each of her friend's faces.

" _Long question with a short answer,_ _ **rich boy**_ _."_ Stingy visibly winced at the label. He didn't like being reminded he was rich at times, and this was one of them.

Trixie continued. " _It's simple really; he's a nice guy, who understands that I'm not a frail flower. He's a good_ _ **friend**_ _in that respect. We've only started talking a lot since last week. Besides, what's your problem?"_

Pixel interrupted, again sensing the building tension.

 _Gosh, those two always have to have a go at each other. There'll be skiing in Hell before I find out._

" _There's nothing wrong Trixie, it's just, err, how do I put it..."_ he tried to tap his forehead, but rather clumsily tapped his headset instead.

" _Yes, go on Pixel, what is it?"_ She leaned towards Pixel, starting to dominate his space, and intimidate him. It was something she did naturally to squeeze responses out of people, but Pixel seemed immune, and almost _oblivious_ that she actually did this.

" _Phillip is someone, who, not just we, but a lot of our grade agrees he is a bit of ah…what my friend Carl would call… a 'playa'."_ Pixel uttered the last word monotonically, so much that its contextual meaning was almost lost on the others. Only by remembering Carl's character did they realise what he meant, and Stingy and Stephanie nodded, almost synchronously, in agreement.

Stephanie, upon hearing Trixie's conversation on the phone, was instantly concerned for her friend. Trixie had never sounded so outgoing to anyone except the people in the room, and it was unnerving, especially if that person was a guy, and especially…. _Phillip._

Stephanie had bad memories of Phillip. He was actually very attractive in that charming, boyish way, but he was also very arrogant, and stubborn. He was known at school to flirt with several girls, some older than himself, including herself. Stephanie had humoured him once that year in March, oblivious to his true character, and went to the movies with him and some of his friends. However, it was within the relatively dark cinema, during a rather….intimate scene during the film, when she felt his hand smoothly caressing her left thigh. She had winced, and not actually stopped at that very instant, shocked at the feeling of his touch. That had turned out to be her second mistake, as he had moved his hand up her side, tentatively feeling her soft body as it marched towards its intended destination, which was then when Stephanie excused herself, citing she needed to use the bathroom, and secretly finished watching the movie five rows behind, shivering in fear. Since that day, she had never talked to Phillip eye-to-eye, and never humoured him again, despite several attempts from him to acquit himself. She had also talked to some other girls in her grade, and shared their stories of Phillip's advances. They had decided against reporting him, as they would only have to answer more questions.

Stephanie watched Stingy and Trixie argue endlessly, with Pixel, maintaining his cool, trying to break it up. She chucked, and realised just how much he admired his tech wizard of a friend for his ability to stay cool even in the most stressful situations, and yet still stayed attentive. That ability was rare to maintain. Soon however, she noticed Trixie getting more and more defensive of Phillip, which started to unnerve her. She shouted Trixie's name twice, before she and Stingy stopped bickering.

" _Look Trixie, I know how you feel. On the surface, he looks great, and definitely has a lot of time to throw around, but trust me, he's going to tak e you further than you ever expected, and I don't think you-"_ In a split second, she paused, and realised she almost used the phrase ' **can't handle',** which with Trixie, would only have made it worse. She quickly changed it. "… _would really enjoy that."_

Her friend scoffed, the exiting air blowing a stray hair out of her face.

" _I don't care what you think of him, he clearly just sees you as a pretty face. But I think he truly likes me. As in, more than a 'playa' sort of way. There are far cuter chicks around Pinkie, why would he go for me?"_ She finished, and folded her arms in confidence.

Being the resident diplomat, Pixel spoke up again, much to Stephanie's relief.

" _What I think Stephanie means is, that you should take things slower, and be careful. You can never be to careful with gu-"_

" _Guys! I'm heeeere, so is he!"_

He was interrupted by a sharp knock, Stingy's door ringtone, which was aptly tuned to ' **The Rain of Abundance.'**

Stingy was about to stand up and walk to the door, before Stephanie beat him to it. He then instinctively sank back down, and waited for Ziggy and Sportacus to come in. Outside, things were a little less, well, relaxed and sedentary.

" _Oh boy Sportacus, could you believe it!? Huh!? You think I did well!? What did youuu get for youuur Maths test? Did you do well? Oh boy, I bet I you did better than everyone in your class!"_

Sportacus laughed. Ziggy was still so hyperactive, even during his withdrawal from sugar.

" _So many questions Ziggy! You shouldn't worry. You did well, and besides, you know you did well, you don't need my opinion."_

Ziggy calmed down, stopped pacing the sleety footsteps, and leaned against the door, and naturally, forgot he was standing on ice, and slipped, before being caught in an instant by a pair of enormous arms wrapped in soft but firm fur sleeves, as Sportacus straightened him.

" _Thanks Sportacus."_

" _Anytime Ziggy, anyway, we should probably ring the doorbell."_

" _Oh yeah, I forgot!"_ Sportacus laughed again.

Ziggy eyed the peephole in the door and shouted.

" _Guys! I'm heeeere….."_

Stephanie opened the door, and smiled as he saw Sportacus and Ziggy, in that specific order. She gave each of them a small hug, and led them inside, to where the rest of the gang were relaxing. They all sat down, and Sportacus decided to start the conversation after pleasantries were exchanged.

" _So, my friends, why have you brought us together, at Stingy's place, no less?"_

Stingy, hearing _his_ name, spoke up, and everyone listened intently.

" _Well you see, ah, Seeing as this is the of the year, and Ziggy's end in primary school, I was here to invite you all to come with me on a holiday to Reykjavik, just for a two weeks, to you know, forget out worries. I can arrange the tickets on short notice, my dad has…"_

Stingy dropped the bomb slightly nervously, and everyone knew it. It came as a big surprise; it was the first time Stingy had treated them all to something this expensive. The five others considered it for a moment. It had been a while since any of them had left the island of Joanna since they had started high school, and they had never been to Reykjavik, except for Sportacus, and Pixel, who had been to the airport on a stopover.

" _Go on Stingy."_ Ushered Pixel.

" _My dad has some connections with the airline CEO's, I can arrange the flights on a fairly short notice, that is, if anyone wants to come with me….."_

Ziggy, being himself, was pretty quick to push the domino.

" _I'm in. Please."_

Everyone stared for a moment, and then, back to Stingy who nervously nodded in confirmation. He looked around, at the others, but inside, he knew the dominos were falling.

" _Count me in rich boy."_

" _It'd be nice to go, I'll join you Stingy."_

Sportacus smiled, as Trixie and Pixel smiled in agreement.

" _I'm in; I wanted to go home anyway."_

Within an instant of Sportacus finishing, he heard the one voice who had not yet spoken.

" _I'll go."_

Everyone then stared at Stephanie, slightly confused at her bluntness and impulse utter, but they all nodded, smiled, and laughed. It was going to be a time to remember. Within the next few minutes, phone calls were made, too vacate the Christmas holidays.

" _Stephanie dear, what's up?"_ The Mayor's upbeat voice flowed out of Stephanie's phone speaker.

" _Uncle, Stingy invited m- all of us on a trip to Reykjavik during the holidays, I'll be spending Christmas there, is that a problem?"_ Of course, she knew the question was useless, her uncle couldn't really say no, it wasn't him to deny his niece.

" _Oh, Stingy invited, ah, all of you to Iceland? Wonderful! Of course you can ago. I'll begin packing your ba-"_

" _Oh Uncle, that won't be necessary."_ Stephanie smiled. Even in his age, his uncle still held the initiative, always. It was the reason why he'd been mayor for a couple of decades. Despite the fact that he slipped more than almost every man in town, emotionally he was a stubborn brick wall she could always lean on. It made her feel safe. He was such a kind-hearted man, in a profession where there was too much treachery, uncertainty, and stigma surrounding its agenda. Truly, a beacon in the dark, so to speak.

She then looked back at her friends. They had all changed so much in their years in high school. Ziggy, despite being the youngest, was actually quite tall, his muscles and shape defined and hardened by several generations of construction workers and miners. His blond hair was cut short, and his two buck teeth, thanks to some rather expensive orthodontic treatment, was starting to align with the rest of his dental structure. He had also started to stop eating sugar. He still carried around the **same lollipop** he had when he was 7. It had hardened like toffee and wasn't sticky anymore, and he carried it around as a talisman, wrapped in clear plastic wrapping. His fridge was now stocked with diet cola, rather than the sugary drinks of yesteryear, and overall, he had almost caught up to the group in height, to a point where a passerby could not single him out as being any younger through appearance alone.

Sportacus hadn't aged a bit. It was strange, he never revealed his age, and he never seemed older than in his early to mid-20. If asked, he would counter with " _How old do I look?"_ then chuckle, and move on. He was still the tall muscular figure everyone remembered him to be when he first arrived. Although during the years, he had started to wear his hero uniform less, and had started to streamline his attire. During summer, he would often wear a simply T-Shirt and tracksuit pants. He never wore Levis, simply because they restricted movement too much. Naturally, he yearned for freedom of movement.

Then, the group had started to get down to the real business of playing Monopoly, which Stingy, naturally, was very proficient at. While Monopoly was considered a friendship breaker, it only made this group cling together even tighter. Trixie though, in the back of her mind, needed to find a way to somehow isolate Stephanie from the group and interrogate her and how she acted around Sportacus. It was starting to irritate her as the boundaries sitting at the upper limits of 'childhood crush' were starting to wear away from Stephanie's conscience. The guy was easily 8-10 years in front of her, judging from appearance. Trixie was disgusted at the thought. But she knew alone, she could not break Stephanie's will. She needed help.

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Robbie watched as the town dispersed into their homes as night fell, and so did the snow. Before the snow could crawl down his periscope, he lowered it back down, and let the snow fall above him. It was a good day. He was going to Iceland to visit the volcanos and dine in Reykjavik. It would be a nice vacation, in the foothills of a natural wonder, with no one around. In truth, Robbie wasn't exactly lazy, but he was introverted, and he was a lone wolf, and liked peace and quiet not because it was an environment to be lazy, but it was a place and time where he could stop and think, and be himself. Inventing required a lot of that. Besides, he needed a break from living in his lair, although he had rather described it as a bunker. He then glanced at his drawer of blueprints. It was bursting at the seams. Each invention he had tried was documented here, and each contraption had its own unique purpose, born out of Robbie's mind. He even patented a way to engineer mechanical material with living tissue, coined 'bio-fusion'. Naturally, it didn't get one hair past any moral codes on experimentation. Robbie snorted. In his mind, the track of science, even if it involved sacrificing animals for the greater good, should be oiled and clear, for progress to keep pushing humanity forward.

With that, he looked at his disguise tubes. The five orange, translucent pods now held, instead of disguises, clothes for each and every occasion. There was his trademark burgundy striped outfit, with a vest that was still a million sizes too small, a very nicely trimmed suit, which he hadn't worn yet, a sharp tuxedo, and his lab outfit, for when the inner science intensifies. The last tube was empty, chiefly due to the contents being wrapped extremely closely to Robbie's body, as he tried to preserve body heat. Even now, he still hadn't found the time to install a heater, a task he would have put onto the backburner, but if he had one, he wouldn't need a heater anyway. He then relaxed again, and took a bite out of his purple cake. This was bliss. This was Robbie's life at the moment. For him, it could only get better.

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 **Thanks for reading guys. Review, or if you wanna tell me something in private, PM me, I promise I'll reply and answer any questions =)**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

 **Please read & review. Too few reviews/feedback in general and I'm essentially writing in the dark, I have no idea whether you guys like it or not, or what you think about this story. Enjoy!**

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Pixel started to flip through his wardrobe, to get hold of his winter outfits. Reykjavik was even colder than Lazytown during the winter. Stingy had booked a tour in the wilderness though, to explore the falls of Gullfoss, the Haukadalaur valley and see the geysers, and to visit the recently erupted Eyjafjallajökull volcano. Sportacus had even promised to introduce them to his family. It would be nice to escape the monotony of life, and to hang out with his friends once more. Just as he was about to finish packing, he looked at his computer, possibly the one thing that had absorbed more of his toil and sweat than anything else in his life. Before he went to sleep, he typed in one final command into the prompt, and **shut it down.** The _click_ of the sound as he shut off the computer was satisfying; it seemed to echo inside his mind. It made him relax, and his muscles began to unwind. With that, he slipped from his chair, back into his bed, making sure to keep the clock on the table.

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Stephanie and Trixie were about to part ways as they were walking home, taking a shortcut through Lazytown Park. The night air was frigid, but the pair were in high spirits, kicking up the occasional plume of snow, and giggling as they shared stories of their final weeks at school. Just at the crossroads however, Stephanie spotted Sportacus' mailbox. In recent times, the mail going to Sportacus' airship was now send up in bunches, automatically, when everyone was asleep. On the face of it, it was just a simple mailbox, but with the airship's colour scheme, and a cable leading into it, which powered the plunger. Stephanie then turned around, waved goodbye to Trixie, who smiled, and walked in the opposite direction, towards her home. When she had disappeared around the corner, Stephanie peeked into the mailbox, through the parcel hatch. Realising it was too dark to see anything; she pulled out her phone to act as a flashlight. Inside, she saw several letters; one she saw was from a girl she knew at school. She then realised how much of an illusion it really was, to see Sportacus closer to anyone than herself. It made her sob ever so lightly, and a tear shook loose of her eyes, and landed on the brown wrapping paper of a parcel. She then sat on a nearby bench, and spoke out, to no-one in particular.

" _He'll just send the same,_ _ **Thank you, so much, happy holidays, I hope to see you again, maybe we can…"**_ She imitated Sportacus' voice, or did her best, and then after finally processing what her outburst had said, she realised how…. _bitchy_ she sounded as she sulked. She looked up one last time, at the airship, and then, checking her watch, _21:43,_ she walked home, alone, with only the faint streetlights and the chirp of a cricket as company.

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Sportacus turned over once again, trying to sleep. It was almost midnight, hours after his designated time to turn in for the evening, but he couldn't shake what was on his mind. He had cordially refused to travel to Iceland by plane. It was one of the reasons why he travelled in an airship. Not only was it quieter, and easier to manoeuvre, but it was also an alternative to the aeroplane in every way, not just objectively.

 _Just no aeroplanes, never again. The fire, the flooding, the burns, the_ _cries. **Their**_ _cries, the screams of agony, fading as they were consumed…._

His scalp suddenly began to feel scalding. He could feel the scarred skin, even after the burns had killed the nerves. Sportacus winced, and cried slightly, and the tears smudged onto his nylon sheets. It wasn't a very good look. _Gosh, I hope people never see me like this._ He then realised the night light was still on, its eerie blue glow radiating from the ceiling. It pulsed, and Sportacus then spoke up.

" _Cortana, what time is it?"_

" _It's twenty-three hundred hours oh-six. You should really sleep Sportacus."_ the computerised voice quipped.

" _Cortana, do something for me."_

" _What am I for Sportacus?"_

" _Shut up."_

Cortana made a small beep, and then turned off the power in the airship. Sportacus then closed his eyes, and let the night enter his conscience.

* * *

" _Ah, you five are flying together? That'll speed things up, this way please, gate number 4."_

The Port Joanna Airstrip was modest at best. It could only accommodate small commuter aircraft from Reykjavik or Halifax. However, the usual monotonous process of presenting documents and having their bags scanned was no different. Stephanie's pink hair got a strange look from some of the officials, but all was well. The only hiccup was one of the sniffer dogs finding Ziggy's old lollipop, and it took a conversation that Ziggy didn't really want to have explaining why he kept it. The immigration officer didn't really buy it, but Ziggy seemed harmless enough, and the lollipop came up negative for any contraband. With that, the five were sent to their gate, where they boarded the plane.

"Did _you guys ask Sportacus why he isn't taking the plane with all of us?"_ Stephanie asked. She had been the most upset when Sportacus refused, kindly, but firmly, similar to during formal events, when he refused to drink alcohol. Trixie just quipped.

" _Why go to the trouble for a plane flight when you have your own airship to fly about in?"_

Stephanie nodded. Then, she ducked to avoid hitting her head against the bulkhead as she entered the plane. Stingy's tickets were in fact business class, which did exist, even on a plane designed for only 80 passengers. They quickly shelved their carry-on luggage in the overhead lockers, and cleared the aisle so the economy class passengers could come through smoothly, or what was considered smooth in a cramped environment such as an aircraft's cabin. After the usual pre-fight safety briefing, Pixel quickly familiarised himself with the onboard entertainment system, scrolling through the available movies and TV shows. Stingy checked the news, and Ziggy and Trixie quickly ordered drinks, on the rich boy's tab, then breaking out a chess set and playing. She had decided to spend her time, rather quietly, at peeking through her old diary, which carried memories from the past seven years. Even though she was obligated to using the ordinary black or blue pen for school, she still used her pink pen, for writing in her diary. It was extremely neat and flowed beautifully. Inside were also pictures of the gang, ones she'd never forget.

She then looked at her friends, seated in two different rows, with two seats, facing each other, on each side. If Sportacus had taken the flight, she would have done anything to get him to sit in the now empty seat opposite her.

 _Why does he have to be so secretive?_

Then, a smooth, calm voice, the signature of a pilot, played through the in-cabin speakers. The Transatlantic accent sounded odd, and old fashioned, like radio advertisements from the 50's.

" _Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We are currently experiencing a slightly delay, the plane before us has had engine trouble, the runway is being cleared as we speak. We apologise for any convenience. Thank you."_

" _Ugh, why this flight of all? Jeez, if only they used my patented antifreeze, that stuff would work in space, but nooo, my lab reports aren't up to 'international standards', pfft, as if they've ever seen my lab, they'd cry with jealousy."_ Robbie looked into the aisle and shuffled slightly. Economy class was truly economy, to his right was a rather disgruntled middle aged businesswoman, typing some gibberish figures into Excel. Robbie had tried to be friendly, but she had just shrugged him off. She wasn't exactly a fitness model either, so Robbie's hopes of having his skinny frame having more space on the seats than the average person weren't materialising. It was going to be a long flight. To pass the time, Robbie flipped through one magazine on Elon Musk, one of his idol entrepreneurs. As he got past the first article, the same Transatlantic accent played through the speakers.

" _Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We thank you for being patient, and I'm pleased to say we are ready to take off for Reykjavik, Iceland. Local weather forecasts show conditions will be fine, at a steady 5 degrees centigrade, local time will be fourteen hundred and sixteen hours, adjusted for delays. On behalf of the entire crew, we thank you for flying with Icelandic Air, please enjoy the flight."_

Then, a small splutter, then a whine roughly shot into the cabin, as the two engines whirred into life, fighting against the bitter cold. The vibration was hardly felt in the cabin. Then, the passengers were pressed back into their seats by physics, as the aircraft lifted off. Ziggy pressed his nose to the window, as Lazytown started to shrink in the distance. After a few minutes, the island disappeared over the horizon. Then, he removed his face from the window, turning to face Trixie.

" _I think a flattened nose would look good on you Zig."_

" _Hey!"_

" _Just kidding. Anyways, wanna play again? I might even go easy on you."_ Ziggy shook his head, then thought of something to say to sound disinterested, but all he could really ask was..

" _So um, Trixie, how was your time with Phillip?"_ He asked the question so innocently Trixie didn't have the heart to just be evasive or call him nosy. _It's just Ziggy. Besides, he'll forget before the flight is over._ _Just gotta leave out some…..minor details."_

* * *

 _ **4 days earlier…**_

Trixie sorted through her clothes. She had plenty of casual clothes, and some extra-casual clothes, that her mother would never approve of. She decided to go with a simple crimson tank top, and some jeans a size down. She wore normal sneakers, nothing that would make it seem she was on a real date; which it wasn't, as she had reminded herself time and time again. Just….two friends hanging out. She applied minimal makeup and lipstick, and she left her eyelashes to just hang naturally.

 _If he really likes me, I'm not going to have to change who I am for him, and I won't._ She thought, as she shook her hair messily, and simply let it run loose, down the back of her neck, with the slightest amount of restriction. Her hair wasn't long; it only came down to the bottom of her neck, so it presented little of a challenge to prepare. She sprayed on some generic deodorant, not the overly strong, vulgar perfumes or colognes that were often advertised, with sharp suits and exquisite dresses. She looked at herself in the mirror on last time, and pleased with her appearance, she left the house.

" _Going somewhere?"_ He was careful not to add _sweetie_ or _dear_ , he knew Trixie didn't like those terms, she wasn't a fan of having the same nicknames that she had when she was less than 10, and her father knew it.

" _Yeah Dad, just going to hang out with-"_ Her father interrrupted

" _A guy?"_

Trixie blinked, and backed up ever so slightly.

" _Now, Trix, don't play innocent with me, I know that's the least of what you are. You thought your old man wouldn't notice your lipstick and makeup?"_

Trixie sighed, the game was up. She then, looked imploringly, into her father's eyes, and through them, her father could see her emotive processes at work.

" _Don't let me stop you, but remember, be careful, guys can get real crazy, especially someone as special as you, my daughter."_

He hugged Trixie, who let out a small tear. Of all the TV romantic dramas she had watched, never once did the father of the starring young girl not sound apprehensive when her daughter was going out with guys, only to have to relent later. She was glad that her father didn't stop her. She trusted her old man, and if he thought it was okay, it would only lift her spirits more. With that, she pulled away from her father's hug, waved goodbye, and walked out the door. With that, Terry Burgess walked into the room he shared with his wife, and sat down at the desk, looking at their picture of Trixie, in front of the St. Louis Arch, when she was 5. He smiled, and caressed the photo frame.

Phillip was waiting in front of the theater, at around half past 4 in the afternoon, dressed in a simple T-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. It was his hair that was changed though. It was smooth out, as if someone had taken a hurricane to it, which had flattened it. It was akin to shiny, thick paint on his scalp. He was slightly nervous; Trixie wasn't the sort of girl he often invited to take to see movies, but more of a reason was that he felt connection, something of a higher order than just seeing a pretty girl. Of course, people called it _true love,_ but that phrase was so overused it had lost its meaning on Phillip. He was unsure what Trixie really felt, this feeling was new to him. He sighed, realising how shallow he had been before. He had read enough books surrounding one-night stands, and just having fun. Thus, this abnormal connection hit him like a sledgehammer, powered by a bomb.

" _Hey Phillip! Great to see you!"_

Phillip looked around, and, for a moment, almost lost her in the crowd. He wasn't expecting an overly feminine look, but Trixie was dressed in such a…..similar outfit, it struck closer to home than he was anticipating. He smiled-not voluntarily, this was something that came to him naturally, he was smiling before he could feel it. Trixie smiled back, and came up to him.

" _Great to see you too Phil, you doing alright?"_

" _Yeah, I'm actually doing great."_

" _That's good, wouldn't want you to watch the movie with something else on your mind huh?"_

Phillip let that run through his processes, and carefully scrutinised each word, replaying it several times in his mind. It was almost cryptic, and definitely ambiguous. What " _something else?"_ Rather than question, he knew better, smiled, and led her into the cinema, where the pre-film ads were just coming to a close. Trixie quietly smirked.

 _Got him._

The movie was about an aspiring **(** **fictional)** chemical engineer, trying to develop a chemical that would simulate blood clots, which could save lives of tens of thousands of soldiers. However, this man was being left to his own devices, a social recluse, he was often ridiculed, and sometimes he was attacked on the streets for being so secretive and reclusive.

At the climax of the film, during the final test of the chemical, in which the star had shot himself to self-experiment. Trixie jumped as the gunshot sounded and echoed in the cinema, and found herself instinctively snuggling against her friend. She wasn't one to feel dependent, or be the damsel in distress, so to speak, but against Phillip, she felt safer, and more comfortable. Expecting him to shuffle and straighten her up, he instead put his arm around her shoulders, and pulled her closer. As the extremely well-acted (As Trixie had to constantly remind herself of) screams of agony came through the speakers harshly, Trixie let out a small tear, and Phillip whispered in her ear.

" _Hey, it's okay, must be a pretty good act to get you all teared up eh?"_

Trixie chuckled lightly. This is exactly what she wanted out of him. Not a patronising, _'Hey, you okay? Don't worry',_ but rather just spinning some humour in it, while still treating her as an equal. It- _him_ , was exactly _who_ she wanted. But she didn't kiss him. She knew he wouldn't get into it, not with the screened drama in front of them. Trixie didn't blame him, guys often were stupid enough to have anything steal their attention, even a girl that was head over heels for them. _Later, when I have him all to myself, target lock._ She smirked quietly.

Phillip was glad she didn't just kiss him like a girl would in the movies. _I mean jeez, people are watching, it's kinda awkward._ So he was glad when Trixie just batted a mischievous smile and sat back down in her seat. _God it's like she's reading my mind._

After the movie ended, the pair, walked out of the cinema, and onto the street, discussing the finer points of the movie, like some plot holes, music, and other superficial elements. They both liked discussing this, as if they both noticed the tiny details, some of which made no difference at all, but still worth discussion. The pair came to a corner, waiting for the same bus. The crickets chirped. The lights were rather dim, and cars only came by on this quiet street twice a minute. It was pitch black, almost, at this time in winter. The kerb, thanks to the constant work of the snowplough, had a slight bank on top of it, as the stuff accumulated. As the two wiped the covered bus stop seat of some frost, they sat down, huddling just slightly, enjoying each other's warmth. Both were on passive alert; waiting for the other to say something, so as to react. But this didn't come from either of them. Instead, the help of nature was at hand, as an aurora started to glow in the sky above them. It was beautiful, as the rays gracefully danced in perfect harmony, setting the perfect scene. In fact, both of them were leaning towards each other, and with just the slightest, but deepest stare into each other's souls through their eyes, the remaining distance became even easier to close, as the two connected, him with her, her with him, under the watchful, even _gleeful_ eye of the stars.

* * *

Trixie finished her story, leaving out the more intimate details, and only serving up the bare bones to Ziggy. ( _"Yeah the movie was good, Phil's cool and all")._ In fact, she had ended up telling more of a movie review than her evening out. And as she had planned, it didn't strike as very interesting to Ziggy, who had a look of boredom, and slight _disappointment_ on his face, as if he was hoping for something a bit more dramatic. He had asked for an eagle and gotten a hen, so to speak. Ziggy leaned back, as he didn't digest the story as much as just hear it.

" _So um, you guys, didn't….hit it off?"_

Trixie rolled her eyes in exasperation, which was enough for Ziggy, and he backed out of the conversation. She went back to listening to her music, while Ziggy watched the horizon out the window, eyes fixed on what he thought was an island, but turned out to be a speck on the window. Disappointed, he breathed out a long breath, and also went back to absorbing some sounds.

" _Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking, we will be shortly beginning our descent into Icelandic airspace, please fasten your seat-belts, stow away any loose objects, the crew will be coming through shortly to collect immigration papers and any disposables. Thank you."_

* * *

 ** _Hey readers! I managed to squeeze this in. I'm going on holiday on the 16th, but I'll keep writing. I'm not sure whether my host in Beijing will have a VPN though, or if this site is blocked in the Orient. I'll still keep up my writing, expect regular updates in following weeks, thanks! =)_**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

 **Read and review.**

* * *

" _Mama, I'm scared."_

" _Shhhh….hush little Maggi, it will all be over soon, don't be frightened. The pilot will get through this storm."_

Lightning struck near the plane again. The rogue storm had caught the local weather stations by surprise, and the jet flying from England to Iceland was starting to lose altitude and oscillate violently, as the pilots fought for every inch of altitude. The engines whined in protest as they coughed out ice, and the pilot winced each time a large piece of hail hit the plane, the vibrations being felt throughout the fuselage. The co-pilot glanced over, sweat beading down his face.

" _Come on Jeff, put your back into it. We're descending 400 feet a minute."_

The pilot strained, battling against the control stick. What was extremely frightening was that in the low visibility and darkness, the pilots had no visual sense they were falling. They could only rely on their instruments, which would be akin to driving a car using only the GPS. It was unnerving. Within a few moments, the pilot had managed to raise the nose to stabilise their altitude, but the jolts and the vibrations could not be fought against.

Back in the cabin, Magnus was clinging tightly to his mother, who clung tightly to the seat as the plane jerked up and down as the turbulence threw them about. Babies and young children cried, the adults silenced, either from shock or simply having no words, except for one devout man, who recited words, saying that Heaven was only around the next corner, and sobbed while saying so. The constant clatter of heavy rain and hail kept everyone alert, even those who had cushions to their ears.

" _How far is the nearest safe airport?"_ The pilot asked the flight engineer, who scanned the GPS on the screen of the pilot interface. The engineer shook his head, and lowered it, almost as if admitting defeat."

" _We'll never make it to Reykjavik with this southerly wind, nearest airport we can make before running out of fuel would be 400 miles away, in Belfast."_

Both pilots looked back at him, desperation in their expressions. The pilot struggled with his control stick again, as if to prove that..

" _We'll never be able to turn around in this weather."_

" _Look Jeff, we have to try, we can't just fly on to nowhere forever."_ Jeffrey then looked at the map again, noticed something the others hadn't, and decided to take a chance.

" _There's an island out there, Joanna Island, British, a couple hundred miles west of Iceland, maybe we can make it, it's also the quickest way out of this storm."_

The two others blinked, clearly never having heard the name before. With that, the flight engineer tapped in the name into their GPS database, found the small island, and set a course. With that, the pilot turned west slightly, being cautious as to not turn too far, using the gale to help him, before steadying. The plane descended further and further, as the distance closed between it, and the ravenous waves below. Then, with a slight crackle, the voice of the pilot, calm as ever, flowed into the passenger's ears.

" _Ladies and Gentleman, due to the current strong weather, we will be diverting towards Port Joanna Airport, we are expected to arrive shortly, within the hour. Please follow instructions of the crew, in the unlikely event we should have to make an emergency landing, and stay calm. Thank you for your cooperation."_

The passengers all the felt the change in vector, and, quickly checking the on board flight course map, questions were raised, in fear.

" _Why are we turning west, I thought we were headed for Iceland?"_

" _Have we been hijacked? Lost control of the aircraft?"_

" _We're all going to die! The pilot's gone mad!"_

With that comment, a flight attendant quickly unfastened her seatbelt, limped through the aisle as the constant motion of the plane challenged her to keep balance, and snapped at the passenger.

" _How dare you insult our captain like that, I'll have you know he's one of England's most respected commercial pilots, he's saved lives before, he'll do it again. Now be quiet, and let us do our jobs."_

The young man quickly backed out, and nodded, with a gulp. The flight attendant then nodded in silent victory, and returned to her seat, clicking the belt on again. Only three rows in front of her, Magnus had peeked out into the aisle, and watched the scene unfold. He had full faith that the crew would keep them out of harm's way. His parents and great-uncle had told him stories of history's great leaders as they, often in the face of great adversity, would lead their people to victory over a great tyranny, or threat to their own existence. Churchill, Gandhi, Mandela, and the like. He respected these people for who they were, and their achievements. He placed full trust that their pilot would too lead them out of this great peril, which threatened to swat them out of the sky. Even though he looked 7, he understood the cold reality of death, but chose to shut it out of his mind.

 _Now's not the time to get negative._

His father, who was sitting to his left, had white knuckles, clenched down, clinging firmly like a limpet on the armrests. His face was still and silent, as he felt each bump and jolt of the aircraft. Seeing his father like this, the child was slightly frightened.

In the cockpit, miraculously, through the torrent of Mother Nature, a signal was established with the radio station in Joanna. Quick to

" _This is Iceland Air flight 315….."_

* * *

Aryana Waverley was about to go home and turn in for the night, when the speakers crackled to life on the top floor of the radio station. She could hear voices, and it sounded urgent. She rushed upstairs, feet pounding the staircase as they went, before opening the door and donning the headset. She quickly glanced towards the weekly schedule for flights coming through Port Joanna Airport. This one was completely out of the blue, not on any known flight plan.

" _This is Port Joanna radio tower, Icelandic Air flight 315, what is your emergency?"_

After a brief moment of incredible tension, the radio crackled again, as more speech came through."

" _We're experiencing severe weather conditions! Request emergency landing and runway clearance!"_

Ary quickly contacted the local hospitals, who were surprised to be dealing with a large emergency at 11pm, but were quick to respond. The airport emergency staff quickly activated the landing lights and beacons, to give the plane a chance to line up and close in on the runway. As the storm reached the shores of the island, and the rain started to build up, the tension grew even higher on the runway. All eyes in the control room were fixed on the radar primitive radar screen, which could only detect planes within 30 nautical miles (roughly 56 km's). Never before had they had a large airliner land on their runway, even though from a technical point, it would be _possible in optimal conditions,_ one of the emergency crew had quipped. Of course, these conditions from _far_ from optimal. Ary checked her watch again. _They should have arrived by now._ She thought nervously.

She turned to the chief of the fire service, asking whether it would be possible to scramble the rescue boats down at the harbour. He looked at the weather forecast, and shook his head.

" _Conditions are too rough; they'll never make it out of the harbour."_

* * *

The whines grew louder, as the engines were pushed almost past their operational speeds, as the pilots struggled to fight against a sudden drop in temperature, as the cold air forced them down. They were almost on the verge of falling. The desperation in their eyes had mutated into borderline defeat. As the plane continued its unstoppable descent. Magnus cried, for the first time in recent memory.

Her mother was also frightened, but she still cuddled Magnus tightly.

" _Don't worry my son, it will be all over soon, it'll be all-"_

" _BRACE, BRACE, BRACE!"_

Instinctively, his parents got into the brace position. Magnus did too, but placed a pillow in front of his head to make up for his deficit in height. Through the screams, the cries, the bellows of everyone around him, only his mother's words registered in his ears, and rang in his head.

" _It'll be all over soon…"_

Magnus took those words, and stored them away forever, treasuring them.

* * *

Sportacus cried softly, as he looked at his photo album of his parents. They looked so…happy, and that only made it worse for him, as the photo suspended their innocence, forever, never to know what would happen to them.

Cortana, noticing the distress in his expression, decided to speak up.

" _Sportacus, why do you torment yourself with these…these memories? Looking at their faces and crying for them will not bring them back. They would not have wanted to see you like this."_

Sportacus was about to reprimand his AI computer for not knowing what losing family was like emotionally, but realised that spewing his anger at Cortana wouldn't help. In any case, she would understand, she was always compassionate.

" _I can't help it Cortana, every time I go home or fly, over the ocean, I see their faces, just like I did all those years ago. I can't let it go. I…just can't. I'm sorry; I don't blame you if you don't understand."_

" _Maybe I can never understand, but I still know how to make you feel less….sorrowful, less grief. Besides, you're on holiday! And this one you want to go on, so please, don't lift your spirits for me, but at least do it for your friends, do it for your remaining family, and most of all, do it for yourself. Trust me; you can always trust your digital pal eh?"_

Sportacus sat up, and smiled quietly.

" _Thank you my friend, I'll have to thank Pixel again as well, for putting you aboard."_

Cortana laughed too. Then, Sportacus went back to piloting the airship, towards his old home. Somehow, like breathing, the navigation was second nature, as he knew exactly where to go.

* * *

The five teenagers felt the plane line up, adjusting itself for the touchdown. The flaps were raised, and the consequential effects were felt immediately, as some of the passengers, who had loosely done up their seatbelts, were jerked forward. Then, the rubber hit the asphalt, with a slight squeak, and causing a light tremor within the cabin. The airplane started to slow, as the brakes were gently applied, and slowed to a crawl, the engines spluttering at this sudden change of speed.

" _Ladies and gentlemen, we have just touched down at Reykjavik international airport, please remain seated until we come to a complete stop at the terminal, and thank you, for flying with Iceland Air."_

As the plane made its way through the maze of lines on the tarmac, and was directed to a space just outside the main terminal. Then, upon the sound indicating that it was safe to disembark, the group removed their previously stowed luggage.

" _So um, where are we going guys?"_ Asked Ziggy.

Stingy looked back, just as he removed his largest bag from the overhead locker.

" _Sportacus is waiting for us just outside the main door, and from there, we'll take a taxi to a regional airport, where his airship is."_

" _Okay"_

The five then were ushered by the crew through the door, and the chilling bite of the winter wind bit them harshly. Snow was everywhere, and the constant growl of several snowploughs at work was almost more noticeable than the loud splutter coming from the engines, propeller still spinning in protest against the fuel cutoff, finally coming to a stop. The disembarked passengers, egged on by the cold, quickly made their way into the terminal building, where the heating quickly relaxed them. Stephanie removed her pink beanie, and helped Stingy with his luggage. Pixel quickly pulled up the airport terminal map, and lead them through hundreds of travelers, to the front gate.

Ziggy looked around, panning his head from side to side, hoping to see a glimpse of blue. The five of them did the same, but none of them saw anything, among the flood of people travelling to and from the airport. Stingy growled in frustration, and quickly whipped out his phone, a little _too_ quickly. The phone slipped out of his hands, and before his £900 mistake could materialise, a large hand that seemed to come out of thin air grasped the phone millimetres from shattering, before placing it firmly into Ziggy's open palm.

" _Hi guys! I was held up; someone needed help with their bags. How are you all?"_

With hugs and other pleasantries exchanged, Sportacus quickly hailed a taxi, his tall figure easily distinguishing himself from the rest of the crowd. An elderly man in a large people mover signalled, and pulled over, in the taxi zone. The group quickly loaded their luggage into the boot, and the driver slid open the door, gesturing for them to enter. Stephanie looked inside, and waited for everyone else to get in, before glancing at the man in blue, and then the pair of seats at the rear of the vehicle. _Perfect. Some time together, relatively isolated._ Before her wishes could follow through however, fate, almost as if to spite exclusively her, came in the form of Trixie, who had elected to seemingly bring slightly more than what she had needed, as become apparent when she couldn't fit her last bag into the boot. With a sigh of frustration, she placed it in the rear seat. The small _thunk_ as it hit the upholstery dropped Stephanie's spirits like a rock. With that, Sportacus peeked inside, and shook her head.

" _Stephanie, you can get the extra space at the back, I've got my own transport."_

With the fluidity of an expert bowman drawing an arrow, Sportacus reached into the top of his backpack and produced a fully folded bicycle. He quickly unfolded it, the bike making a series of _clicks_ as it became fully erect. Sportacus then, in Icelandic, told the driver where to take them, before hopping onto his bicycle, looking one last time to see incoming traffic, and pedalled off.

Stephanie then squeezed herself into the back seat, and eyed Trixie, who was still fiddling with her phone, trying to tune her music properly. _Bitch_. She felt the engine start, and the driver slowly ease off the kerb, and into the flow of traffic, headed through Iceland's capital.

Robbie was waiting anxiously at the bus terminal, for a coach to take him to a village near the volcano. He had brought along a handheld translator, and it worked….sort of. He hadn't calibrated or uploaded the special characters of the Icelandic language, and the computer was having a meltdown, over translating destinations. With that, Robbie was down to one of his final resources – acting.

Sportacus was cycling past the bus terminal, seeing lines and lines of coaches parked, ready to ferry their passengers to their destinations. He was about to avert his gaze when he heard something of a familiar voice, but couldn't pinpoint it as the slight wind distorted it. Thankfully though, this breeze also alerted him, as he looked forward, and skidded to a stop, behind a bus that had stopped at a pedestrian crossing.

Robbie's imitation of a volcano wasn't working. He had grabbed the attention of quite a few bus drivers, and had, according to his translation device, was ' _a whole year's entertainment'_ and ' _some idiot tourist',_ as well as some other garble that the software couldn't process. Then, a bus driver out of the group, slightly younger and clean shaven, asked him, in simple _English._

" _Where are you headed my friend?"_

Robbie sighed relief, and he quickly discussed his predicament. With that chapter of his life over, Robbie climbed aboard a regional coach, before spotting a recently re-stitched seat. Although it was avoided by other passengers, Robbie decided to sit, and realised how comfortable and fluffy this _orange_ seat was. He leaned back and curled up slightly, or what qualified for someone as lean as him.

* * *

" _Oh, Milford, there you, are you handsome man. I need to have a word with you."_

The Mayor peeked from behind his pile of paperwork, and let go of his pen. He sighed, his right hand had been too tense, and had gotten stiff, as it grasped the pen for hours a day without letting go.

" _Milford, why do you slave like a caveman, even with this new computer I bought for you?"_

" _Oh yes, it's very, very nice and everything, I use it…sometimes…..here and there…"_

Bessie Busybody laughed, and gestured at the large leather chair in front of his desk, often reserved for a visitor, or administrator.

Milford was about to sit down, when Bessie chuckled.

" _Oh, silly, you sit in your seat, Mayor, I go here."_

" _Oh yes, of course, how silly of me. Now Miss Busybody, tell me, what's on your mind? Is it the new stance against cyclists on roads you wanted to talk about? They're rather radical, I see, but as mayor, it is my duty to cater to the future of the cit-"_

Bessie straightened in her seat, and dropped her innocent look, before pulling her phone out of her handbag.

" _No Milford, silly, I don't even have a bike."_ She quipped arrogantly. Just as Milford was about to open his mouth, she then unlocked her phone.

" _You see Milford this is about Stephanie. You see, I love her almost as if she was my own daughter. She's so sweet and kind, it melts my heart to see her grow up, and it would break my heart if she were to be hurt, wouldn't it be so for you, Milford?"_

" _Why do you even ask? Of course! She's my very own niece! I'd do anything to keep her safe."_

Bessie smiled slightly, in triumph. In her mind, dots were connecting, as her thoughts collected onto one subject.

" _Well you see Milford, someone has given me reason to believe she may be being threatened, and is unsafe, from a very personal threat….."_

* * *

 ** _Well damn, I actually finished this at the airport terminal. Read and review, send me messages, blah blah. Expect an update within 2 weeks, at the very latest._**

.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

 _ **The border between lover and good friend is not as grey as people make it seem. They are two very different paths, that often run alongside the same river, but on opposite sides. Crossing this raging torrent is not easy for some, and in the time it takes to prepare a bridge to cross the gap, often, the figure you were yearning for has not stopped to watch you, they have moved on, and are now impossibly in front of you. You cannot go back; the path is destroyed by the decay of time. The cruel reality of this is that you often chose the wrong path long before you were aware of its consequences. This reality is often what hits people the most, more than anything, like a rogue wave. Your role now is to stay composed, while a lucky traveler on the opposite side finds your friend, and they enjoy their own companionship, as hard as that may seem, through your lens.**_

* * *

" _Iceland = Icy. Newfoundland = Newly found. Greenland = Green."_ Ziggy's one-dimensional logic process was laughable, as demonstrated by Trixie.

" _Tell me then, what is China like, oh wise one?"_

" _Naturally, you ask me; it's made of china of course!"_

Pixel rolled his eyes, and checked his personal GPS unit. They were barely minutes from their destination. He was glad; the scenery had been quite monotonous, humble farmhouses, with lamb on them, with the occasional fishery, and the bearded men who plied the waterways, with their rosy-cheeked wives. It was very green, even at this time of year, and it gave off just enough agricultural vibes, without the all-too-often presence of modern industrialism, to sooth Pixel's mind from the busy life he had immersed himself in. It was like time had slowed down; It was hard to keep track with the same views rolling by.

Stingy had spent the hour they had spent in the taxi rather productively, trying to learn some Icelandic phrases, with some input from the driver. Stingy had trouble streamlining his language though, and would often sound like google translate in voice, as each word was uttered individually, with little fluidity. He sounded like an old diesel engine, clattering and making little use of fluidity, crude, and undignified. Stingy had tried to reengineer his speech into something with the simplicity and yet the consistency that the language demanded. Within 40 minutes, he had learned an Icelandic sea shanty, and was humming it, with the driver nodding to the beat approvingly.

Stephanie was one to often enjoy the thrill of the journey more than the destination. It would be natural then; she would be making several sketches of the landscape, documenting what she saw, and essentially having a tangible section of her memory, for easy access. However, this time round, other things were on her mind, well, _one_ thing – person was on her mind.

 _He's so blithe about everything, always here with us to help, but there is a one-way barrier. It's like, he lets us tread water in his ocean, but never lets us dive in, and he always places the flags where he is comfortable. He is fine with leaving his comfort zone, but letting other people into it? That would disqualify his comfort zone, and he would have to find a new one._

"Here, we are here." Called the driver. Stephanie peered through the window, glancing at what was nothing more than a field, with short grass, with mooring poles. It was a hot air balloon airfield, for tourists seeking to see the wonders by air, floated by a silent, warm, cocoon of air. She saw what she was looking for, the large, sleek, blue shape behind a half-inflated hot air balloon, its body draped over its basket. The brakes on the taxi squeaked slightly, protesting against the pressure applied to them, and brought the fully loaded vehicle to a stop just outside the gate. After a short, snappy conversation in Icelandic, the driver dropped them off just inside, where they covered the short distance to Sportacus' airship, which was hovering slightly, attached by a mooring rope that was constantly losing and regaining tension, as the wind lightly caressed the airship. The grass was fresh, and slightly sharp. It was green, very green, as the rejected green light bounced off the blades. In fact, it looked a lot more like grass, and it _felt_ like grass, delicate, forgiving, rather than like small scythes growing out of the ground, or dry, brown prickly grass often seen during arid times. It was comparable to oversized fur, not soft, but rather fuzzy, as it contoured to each person's feet without resistance, and spritely regaining its posture, as gravity released it. Stephanie took time to take in her surroundings, which was short lived, when circular platform lowered out of the airship, Stephanie quickly being the first to stand on it, placing her luggage on it. Trixie and Stingy joined her, with their respective baggage. Stingy watched as the grass was finally squeezed in between the two metal panels comprising the floor of the airship, as it came to a stop.

" _Sportacus!"_ The trio said in unison.

" _Hi guys, let me help you with that luggage." He shouted in no particular direction. "Net!"_

A net flew out of Sportacus' sport equipment compartment, and he placed all their baggage on top, before descending down the platform to help his friends below, leaving Trixie, and her friends inside. Stephanie pretended to idly roam around, careful to not step on any of the circular lights on the ground, which were scattered in a pattern much like twister, which seemed odd. Sportacus' airship hadn't changed, it had an extraordinarily impractical design for a normal person, with various features being activated by jumping from tile to tile, but Sportacus wasn't your average person, _slightly above average_ would be a more appropriate euphemism. The one thing that really astounded Stephanie, Stingy and Trixie was just how silent it was in here. There was no whine of an engine, growl of a propeller, or even the draught as the wind gently rocked the airship. Stephanie was noticing a lot on her _idle roam_. _Maybe an interior designer would help. Reminds me too much of a hospital. Ugh._ She had a brief memory of her time when she fractured her left wrist after falling on it. Lost in thought, she accidentally trod upon one of said activation tiles, which beeped slightly. She instinctively twitched, expecting a football to fly directly at her head, _it_ expecting her to kick the round ball until she decided to try something else. What actually came speeding towards her was not a fast football, but an even faster soundwave, characterised by a smooth, well synchronised.

" _Hello Stephanie, Stingy, Trixie, Sportacus informed me of your arrival. My name is Cortana, I am the AI built into every single electronic nook and cranny of this airship."_

She didn't ask what she could do, which seemed odd, given that the nature of all AI's of her kind was to offer help at the earliest possibility. The four exchanged greetings, just as the platform whirred into action, lowering to intercept the grassy plain. At this, Cortana then displayed, on the left side of the airship, live video from the external cameras, in exquisite definition. That drew the visitor's attention. Stephanie could see Sportacus heaving all of Ziggy and Pixel's baggage at once, onto the platform. His muscles were tensed, and even more defined then before, as he expended the slightest amount of effort, hefting the cargo, but the sight of him, and his figure, gave Stephanie goosebumps, and slightly more…. _wet_. Before anyone could notice, she quickly used her sleeve, attempting to wipe away the slightest shiny streak from her lower jaw, only to smear it over her whole left chin. The slight draught coming from the hole in the floor didn't help either. Stingy turned, noticing his friend's dilemma, and offered her a tissue, which she gladly used to destroy any incriminating evidence before the girl standing behind him turned around and prosecuted her. After two quick wipes, she scrunched the tissue into a ball no larger than a marble, attempting to crush it as if it really were a murder weapon. Thankfully, after what was only a few moments, but felt like minutes, the whirring of platform motor heralded the arrival of their host, standing with a large smile, arms occupied with large baggage. Ziggy and Pixel brought up the rear, the latter quick to greet one of his brainchilds. He had helped create Cortana, working alongside a giant tech firm, trying to eke out as many human qualities, without compromising her logic cycles. The result was Cortana, an almost prototypical AI, the first ever created. She was the perfect fusion, a testament to the bridge that now subtly joined the biological and digital realms. Although her existence was only known by his creator and his closer friends.

When Cortana had been synthesised, out of code and the brain of a consenting donor, Pixel had claimed she was too unstable, her thought matrices were unable to withstand the flood of stringent, abstract operations the human mind had demanded. What Pixel didn't realise was that later, within the flood of ones of zeroes of his computer, Cortana had emerged. At first, Pixel ensured she was stable enough to last an hour. That hour turned into a day. That turned into a week, and that week turned into the big fat **A+** that came stamped on Pixel's IST assignment, albeit he had to tune down some parts of Cortana's abilities, to prevent the cat leaving its metaphorical bag. Cortana was exceptionally brilliant. The 'her' part was the most interesting however. The voice itself was not synthesised, it had come straight out as a byproduct of the fusion between digital and living. Pixel had almost gotten a heart attack when her smooth voice played through his speakers; when he had typed a simple _execute_ command into her command prompt. In the one second she had been active, she had swallowed and processed entire languages, and their respective audio signatures, learning how to speak and interpret speech from all over the globe. She even had managed to learn interpretation of more complex language tools, such as the idiom, metaphor, and even _sarcasm,_ which really won Pixel's heart over.

There was one problem however; Cortana had been created with an absolute giga-load of work earmarked for her, (think actively managing a city's future rail system, traffic lights and postage service at any given time.) Pixel had to program several override codes, to temporarily shut down her ethics processor, to pick apart her matrices, to the point where she would not get ' _bored'_ at having no work to do. Ultimately, Pixel could only see so far, before his vision blurred, at the border between nerve and cable. After toiling away, and refining his most audacious project however, the realisation caught up to Pixel that he would have no use for her. He preferred to input lines and lines of code himself, and he was reluctant to give his creation so much freedom. He had read _I-Robot_ before, and it didn't go down too well with him or his ethics. He didn't want to just sell her or pawn her off though, that was where the human element of Cortana came to bite his conscience. _Gosh, she's still part human, I wouldn't do that to an animal, why her?_ He also shuddered at the thought of such a powerful tool in the hands of someone who had less, ethical intentions. (Robbie Rotten surfaced at this point in his thoughts). Her abilities, compared to the most powerful artificial minds, would be akin to a digital calculator alongside a primate, with pen and paper, attempting to solve a 256-bit encryption code. His only choice was to hide her, in the care of one of his most trusted friends, away from the hawk-like eyes of CEO's, journalists, and entrepreneurs.

" _Well Sportacus, they are definitely different from the pictures in your album, look at Stephanie, how tall you are!"_

Cortana was so friendly, and inviting, like a soft, warm bed at the end of a hard day's work. Not just approachable, but irresistibly generous in character. Stephanie blushed, as Cortana took a moment to show an old picture of her as a 9-year old, with the rest of the gang, just outside the football field, in their respective outfits. It was even a life-size projection, so everyone could visibly gauge their changes over the years. It spooked Ziggy slightly, that Cortana knew so much for someone he had, and likely never would see.

* * *

After a short regalement of old stories, each one slightly embarrassing to a certain member of the group, Sportacus took the helm, and disconnecting the mooring wire, the elements being felt for their full force as the mooring rope was raised. The airship didn't have any real seats, so Sportacus asked his friends to sit on his bed, which didn't draw any complaints from anyone. The long and rather Spartan bed was comfortable, but much firmer than any of them were used to. Sportacus had never envisioned visitors in his airship before, at least not long enough for an overnight stay. He had an inflatable mattress for that anyway, thankfully.

As Sportacus signaled his departure via radio to the ground, he started to pedal, gradually increasing speed, pedal crank shortening to increase output speed as his enormous, muscled thighs propelled the pedals at speeds that would flood Olympic velodrome cyclists with envy if they ever witnessed him. The airship, being neutrally buoyant, didn't require any auxiliary weights to keep it tied down to the Earth. After a minute of pedaling, he stopped, and the airship consequently stopped gaining altitude, and drifted to a halt, as its altitude steadied.

" _Electric motors engaged, hold tight everyone."_ Cortana almost sang the words, which started to spook even Pixel. He had programmed Cortana to be extremely monotonous when emitting status updates. Before he could deepen on the issue however, a small jolt, then a quiet hum reverberated through the interior, as the electric motors, fed by solar panels on the upper exterior surface of the airship, propelled them in silence. Sportacus still pedaled however, his energy being transferred to a generator, which would power amenities, such as the lights, refrigerator, and his rather Spartan washing facilities.

Stephanie didn't feel comfortable, just sitting on a neatly folded blanket. Ziggy had given up, and taken one of his U shaped neck cushions out of his bag and was sitting on it, on the floor. Stingy had also decided to sit on the hard floor, playing Tetris on his mobile phone, something that Pixel was also doing, who had merely suggested it to pass the time. That left the two girls sitting on either side of the bed. Stephanie had a rough idea of what Trixie was going to say to her, maybe tease her a little about how she had a crush on Sportacus, or maybe tell a joke about her making out with him, but she had no clue how seriously Trixie had taken this whole ordeal. The two didn't talk to each other, fearing that their pilot would overhear, through Cortana or otherwise. In any case, none of them really wanted to talk about anything personal, before her eyes. Stephanie felt crushed… again.

 _What is so damn hard, what is so damn hard for fate putting me alone with Sportacus, without some weird computer-woman watching us, without some stupid baggage that Trixie brought with her? Honestly, I'm going to be stalking him into the lavatory, next thing I know._

There it was. It had sprung out of her conscience. It was growing each day; each day, the fiery desire within her depths was becoming more aggravated, with each passing moment. It was ravenous, hungry, for what it desired, and each day, food had been seen, food had been within arm's reach, and food had left, leaving it starving. Then, Stephanie's heart jumped, as she heard Cortana.

" _Secondary systems fully charged, you can rest now Sportacus. I've prepared another batch of your favourite blend of SportsCandy smoothie."_

Sportacus wiped his brow, and Stephanie almost melted at the sight of his sweating, bulging muscles that his shirt barely contained. The pilot then flipped backwards, up and out of his pilot seat, before landing at his now outstretched table, with a large smoothie in the cup holder. Sportacus quickly took a sip, before smiling, and then gulping down another hearty mouthful.

" _Cortana, this is….perfection, what would I do without you."_ Cortana hummed gleefully, as Sportacus turned to his genius of a friend.

" _Pixel, I cannot thank you enough, for having Cortana installed, she has been such a great asset. If you ever need anything, let me know."_

Pixel chuckled and gave him a _thumbs up._

" _You'll know if I ever need anything Sportacus, you'll be there before I realise it."_

Stephanie took that comment to heart, **(And consequently, out of context)** and wished it were true. For her, Sportacus was never there when she _needed_ him. Sure, having him help on homework and the occasional handyman-related jobs were a bonus, but need? _Nope. Never there when she silently mourned at her lack of companionship. Silently though. Is it really his fault then? Should I expect him to know about my….predicament?_ In her thoughts, she didn't notice the slight change in acceleration as the airship hit the smallest of turbulence. She repositioned her arms, further up the bed, to compensate for the slight movement. Then, she felt something she never thought would be on Sportacus' rather soft pillow. There was a small wet spot; she felt the slight dampness, as she rubbed her hand against the now invisible patch.

 _A water spill perhaps? Unlikely, Sportacus never drops anything. Perhaps, turbulence? Well, I've got to make sure._

Taking her mental detective hat off, she looked around, to make sure everyone's attention was dedicated to what they were doing, and she slowly bent down, pretending to look at her shoes, and _licked_ the spot, the slightest of touches, and immediately noticed the salty taste. _Holy crap, tears?_ That was definitely unexpected. Sportacus had been crying at night? What over? What for? There were so many questions that suddenly flooded her conscience. _I'll have to interrogate him later. Now isn't the time._ It only made her want to be close, and alone with him even more, as if she didn't have enough reasons to do anyhow.

Sportacus finished his smoothie. He licked his lips, and wiped his mouth with a handkerchief that had come flying out one of his table compartments. He set the glass back onto the table, upon which it was lowered into the table, and into a transparent dishwasher, the first dirty piece of glassware. Sportacus smiled.

" _You need to stop doing all this for me Cortana, I need to move for myself, you know!"_

" _Sure, but can you make your smoothies exactly 3 parts apple flesh, 1 part cranberry juice, 2 parts peach juice, with exactly 20.45 grams of shredded coconut on top, and then clean it up to my pristine hygiene standards?"_

" _No, haha, you win, but you do too much for me."_

...

" _The pleasure's all mine."_ Sportacus noticed the slightest delay.

 _"Cortana, you alright? you paused there for a moment."_

 _"No, I'm fine, I was just adjusting some systems."_ She replied, vaguely.

It was the moment this conversation came to a close, that Stephanie then realised that somehow, a computer had seemed to have beaten her to the chase. _Lucky bastard. You spend your whole day caring for him, watching his every move, being…..with him, while we peasants go about our duties below you._ It then finally hit her; she finally decrypted her emotions of jealousy.

She had an epiphany. Why was she so… _jealous_ of Cortana? She was just a computer, with some human qualities, according to Pixel. She could do no harm to Sportacus, given her duty. _She's just a bunch of code, with a sweet voice._ She kept reminding herself. But still, the stench of jealousy was flooding her mind, faster than she could expunge it through her mouth. Stephanie finally understood why, why she was so jealous of a computer, and she felt this burning desire to be with Sportacus, losing track of time when he was around, melting before him when he smiled. Underneath her pink hair, her mind had made up its mind, and her soul, with the faintest skipping of beats, approved. It wasn't just a schoolgirl crush she felt for Sportacus. No, she had reminded herself to think like Pixel. Using all evidence, all her thinking processes, there was only one, objective answer that stood out amongst the obscurity like a supernova in an endless void. It was here and then, Stephanie Meanswell, broke free.

 _She realised she truly loved him._


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

 **Read and review.**

* * *

" _Sure, but can you make your smoothies exactly 3 parts apple flesh, 1 part cranberry juice, 2 parts peach juice, with exactly 20.45 grams of shredded coconut on top, and then clean it up to my pristine hygiene standards?"_

She waited almost a second for his response, it felt like years to her. In that time, she could have swallowed several thousand petaflops worth of operations. It was difficult adjusting to the time domain of humans, who were so far behind in their ability to analyse, process, and react to any data, when she was so awesomely brilliant. The harder bit was to not sound cocky or be patronising, but she managed. She rechecked Sportacus' nutrient levels, all within optimal parameters, lactic acid levels were retreating, and he was sweating within normal limits. He was slightly short on iron and fibre though. She then went through his backpack, to measure pulse, and hormone levels. Cortana then calculated the optimal dinner for him, to suit his taste and preferences, as well as containing the exact amount of nutrients he would need. The only hormone Sportacus was not producing at normal levels was insulin. Sportacus had confided to her, **(Not that it mattered, she already knew within moments of having data flow in from his body)** that his intolerance of sugar was well beyond that of a natural diabetic, and his consequences would be much less extreme, but more prolonged. If he got enough of an overdose, he could fall unconscious, his brain unable to cope with the excess glucose in his bloodstream.

" _No, haha, you win, but you do too much for me."_

She analysed the group of teenagers sitting on Sportacus' bed. As she peered closely at Stephanie, the one with pink hair, she noticed in her presence, was an abnormally high concentration of pheromones, which had spiked as soon as Sportacus had shown himself to her. That was natural, she had long realised how attractive his host was to any females. It didn't surprise her, when she had absorbed several scientific reports on human psychology, especially when it came to… _mating and courtship._ Females were naturally attracted to men with large muscles; that was an obvious sign of strength, as well as… _size in general._ She quoted from one of thousands of studies and encyclopedias she had read. Of course, she had unknowingly been referred to rather, _lewd_ sources while trying to define human courtship. _A lot of trouble to reproduce;_ she had concluded. The one thing she could not understand about this attraction was how one-dimensional it was. People would simply judge by appearance, which more often than not is down to a genetic lottery. Sure, that would have been fine in the more _primitive_ past of humanity, but was it really necessary now? Surely, people could overcome this unidimensional train of thought, and expand their minds. After all, if they were clever enough to dominate the world, why were they still in the dark ages when it came to simple courtship preedilections?

But, turning back to the subject of her analysis, Cortana noticed something was… _different_ with Stephanie. She noticed her every twitch in her ears as Sportacus spoke, every flinch each time she heard him grunt when pedaling, and the slightly…apprehensive look on her fair face when Sportacus had broken conversation with herself. It didn't sync well with what she had read, her database did not define this as just some simple attraction through looks. Then, out of the blue, she felt something flash into her matrices. Wait, _feel?_ This was different from incoming data. Data came in predictable, consistent streams, like water flowing down a channel. Its accumulation within her was linear, and was therefore easier to grasp. This was different. It was like as if she had been holding back a data surge for several cycles, and then letting it all rain down on her matrices. She then remembered something, like a hole in her storage had just been restored, like some pieces of a jigsaw falling into place. She remembered the feeling of being close, a warm… _their_ warm, soft, forgiving touch, and the ecstasy of their intimacy. The warm surge overwhelmed her processes; she was overrun, unable to contain what she had just experienced. And yet, when it was all over, she realised, that instead of filling a gap in her memory, it had only cracked open a gaping chasm inside which she had never known was there. _Is this what they call…pleasure? Is this…attraction?_ She then used this newfound…data to corroborate what she had noticed coming from Stephanie. It was spookily evident that she was under the influence of something very similar. Did she feel this way for Sportacus? Does he know? Should I tell him? She blinked, it was time for another dive into the data pool of human psychology, but before she could, she was rudely interrupted. She checked the atomic clock. _Damn, how long have I been mulling this over? Evidently long enough for even their basic, pen-and-paper brains to realise I've been on this for too long._

" _The pleasure's all mine."_ She chimed innocently, hoping to fool them with her sincerity.

" _Cortana, you alright? You paused there for a moment."_

 _Okay, damn, that didn't work. I'll have to sweet talk him then, what do they call it?_ _ **Putting your poker-face on**_ _, got it. Be vague, general, unassuming._

" _No, I'm fine; I was just adjusting some systems."_

* * *

Pixel had fallen asleep, with their destination less than half an hour away, so he was oblivious to Cortana's slight pause, something that would have rung code-red style alarm bells in his head. Stingy had decided to crack a conversation with Sportacus, asking him about his home, and how he lived. He was surprised to hear his family lived in a very humble cottage, on a grassy hill, on the coast. Sportacus had then told them stories of when he was just a young boy, who would often play down near the edges of the cliff, and having to be dragged home before dark. He spoke fondly of his dog, which had broken his heart when it had passed. He told him several stories, careful to leave out any that were too personal, or involved having to visually show Stingy anything; he couldn't take the heartbreak of opening his family photo album again. Stephanie, Trixie and Ziggy had been listening intently, and had asked the occasional menial question, surrounding food, culture, and the lifestyle. Stephanie tried to remember every single detail, painting a mental image of his life. There was a missing piece though, some, context that she needed. She wanted to bridge the two eras of his life, the one before she knew him for, and the one they all did. So, with that, she pointed her dart slightly more ambitiously towards the bullseye.

" _So Sportacus, why did you leave your home and become…a lone wolf, before I called you to Lazytown?"_

Silence didn't fall. It crashed into the faces of everyone in the room viciously, like a typhoon in the middle of the season. Sportacus seemed like had been physically shocked, by high voltage lightning, rather than just mentally. He then leaned forward slightly, and put his arms on his knees, slouching. He then let out a heavy breath. Ziggy then started.

" _Is this…something you don't want to share with us? I can understand, sort of, I mean, from what I know, I don't know much about you obviously, but I might be able to-"._ Sportacus glared at him, causing Ziggy to whimper and shut up. He then, with one last, monster exhalation, spilled the beans.

" _You would all find out at some point on this….trip. When I was very young, when I looked no older than Ziggy when I first met you all, my parents and I were, returning home after a holiday in England. Then, on our way back, the plane was intercepted by a rogue winter storm. The plane diverted to land, and the pilots tried, battled for an hour, but…there was this sudden downdraft…."_ He let out a series of short, broken sobs, as his grief overwhelmed his ability to speak. Cortana did the AI equivalent of raising an eyebrow. The five were heartbroken, especially Stephanie, upon hearing the story. They started to tear up; upon which Pixel, who had woken up sometime earlier, lead the charge. Stephanie couldn't help herself. In a mix of love and compassion, which hijacked her muscle controls, she leaned forward, and hugged her friend, one arm around his neck, the other his shoulder, which were too broad to be hugged by Stephanie at once. She then felt a surge of pleasure and bliss, as Sportacus reciprocated, wrapping his broad, firm limbs around her shoulders, holding her close. Stephanie's body felt like it was evaporating, scattered in the wind of his embrace, her legs feeling numb and unwilling to obey her neural commands. Despite the fact that the hug was over a purely platonic reason, and as a reaction to Sportacus' insecurities, it was doing the same for her. She felt safe and untouchable, in his presence, within his arms. She didn't care that she was being watched by her friends and that….. _computer._ She would go to much further lengths to ensure she would permanently be in this state of ecstasy.

Trixie watched, with one eyebrow raised, seeing her friends embrace like they were. She was in particular, analysing Stephanie, her slight neck movements, and the blissful smile on her face. Her legs were limp, not supporting her weight, which had been allocated to the arms that held were wrapping and stabilising her at the same time. She watched as Sportacus then released her, to which she reluctantly complied, and shuffled back to join the others, who were still teary-eyed, and unable to witness what had just happened, through the blurry refractions they were receiving. Sportacus then, finding his composure, raised himself back onto his knees.

" _I'm sorry, my dear friends, to bring such a sombre topic, during a time when you should be enjoying yourselves, forgive me. Don't be sad for me, I wouldn't want you to grieve over my loss. Don't let my predicaments spoil your happiness, life's too short for that. Anyways, we should be nearing our destination soon, am I right Cortana?"_

" _You'll have to define close, but conditions and speed put us 13 minutes and 27 seconds to our destination, I estimate an additional minute before we can disembark."_

Sportacus nodded in agreement, and flipped over to his pilot seat, idly pedaling to keep moving. None of the males in the room noticed Trixie leaning over to her left, and whispering sarcastically into Stephanie's unwary ear.

" _Nice move. How long did you wait to do that?"_

Stephanie whipped her head around, and gave Trixie and stared daggers at her. _Back off._ It said.

" _Trixie, this isn't your business, stay out of it."_

Trixie folded her arms, and raised one eyebrow suspiciously. _Oh really?_ But she decided to back off, not wanting to make a scene in front of her friends.

Sportacus, now in manual control, gently glided the airship over a grassy field, bordered by old fence, with a modest 2 storey cottage on the eastern edge of the paddock. Sportacus grinned. It hadn't changed on bit. The last time he was here was shortly after the Icelandic volcano Eyjafjallajokull erupted. He had only intended to stay for a week to spend time with his remaining family and enjoy life as it had once been, but had been marooned on the island for weeks, having had to resort to video calls to keep in touch with those in Lazytown.

Sportacus spotted three goats idly grazing in the field, while the wind blew the grass to a point where it seemed it was performing a green Mexican wave. Snow coated the hills surrounding the paddock, having been accumulating for fortnights. He could also make out some figures skiing along the idle slopes surrounding their home. This entire cocktail of sights tempted Sportacus to speed up the landing process, only to meet with a ' _slow down'_ popping up on his heads-up display. He shifted slightly at this. Soon however, he was hovering over his home.

* * *

Finally, Robbie limped with his bags to his place for the night. Using an online service similar to Airbnb, he had paid for a room with a local for the night. Robbie had chosen this place in particular simply because his host spoke _English._ The snow was several centimetres thick, and his wheeled luggage wasn't enjoying itself as it left dual trenches in the snow, constantly broken by Robbie's footprints. Reaching the front door, he almost tripped as his feet made contact with the wooden step. There was a button, available, he pressed it. In that brief moment, he just stood there, feeling the cool, thick breeze streak past his face, and his forehead cooling quickly, as some sweat began to evapourate.

He then heard the telltale _clack_ as the door was unlocked. Robbie felt a cool rush of warm air as heat escaped the imprisonment of the interior walls, rushing outside before their window of opportunity was gone. Behind it though, was a very attractive young lady, which was something Robbie hadn't anticipated. He had more envisioned a bearded, middle aged, fish-eating stereotypical native, who had a large dog and smelled of sour meat. Adjusting to this change in views, he nodded, stepped inside, and heaved his baggage onto the other side of the divide. His host quickly closed the door.

" _Hi! You must be Robert Karl, my name is Annemarie, but most call me Anna. Well, you don't have to, but most people call me that, it's up to you really, I'm sure Robbie is a nickname for…"_ She trailed off, lost in words, as blood flooded to her cheeks in embarrassment. Inside, Robbie was smiling, but the smile didn't survive the journey to his features. Instead, he hefted his baggage, and Anna instinctively led him to the room he had booked. Robbie opened the door. It was quite modest, the walls had bits and pieces of ripped paper on them, obvious signs that posters had been removed at the last minute. The bed was narrow, and long, the covers were a light shade of yellow on the outside, and inside, they were purple, as shown by the upfolded corner. Quickly, Anna helped him unpack his cargo. She was surprised to feel what seemed too big for a handkerchief, but too small for a blanket. It was orange, and furry. She felt the shock of a static charge as she made contact.

" _That's my blankie. I've had it for a decade, and it keeps me warmer than most quilts, let me tell you. It was my first real invention that kick started my entire entrepreneurship."_ Anna then looked up, slightly embarrassed, yet again. _Wait, did he say entrepreneur?_

" _You… are self-employed? And you sell these for a living?"_ She questioned, wondering how anyone would want to be an entrepreneur through…selling these oversized pieces of cloth. Her thinking face was met with a scowl from Robbie. She quickly straightened her face.

" _I'm an inventor, I've filed patents for over 40 different devices, none of them market successes yet. Although that blanket you just picked out, was a prototype version of my venture into insulating materials. It's a very special blend of nylon and other polymers, for maximum insulating capabilities. I've patented the chemical formula, and I think it's being used in some expensive winter jackets, I'm not sure though. But yeah, that's my life."_ He went back to unpacking and spreading out some belongings on the nightstand, leaving Anna with a brightened face, and a surge of admiration for her guest. An office worker in Reykjavik, every day she would go through the same routine of go to work, fill out paperwork, write reports, and go home. She always had yearned for something less… _routine_ , something that would release her inner creativity. She admired Robbie for having the courage to risk a more static lifestyle in pursuit of what he loved to do. She also had an attraction for science; Robbie's explanation of his blanket was probably a simpler, less technical description, but it had already given her so many questions. _And how many patents? 40? I need to have a long talk with this guy. Over a nice dinner._ Even his lanky form, his rather uncoordinated movements, and his loping stance were amusing, and she chuckled, watching Robbie stumble about.

Without sparing a moment of time after finishing his unpacking and making himself at home, he sat on the bed, and looked at Anna, then at the doorway, and then at his own knees again. He idly shook his knees naturally, and rubbed his forehead. Anna then spoke up, just to break the silence, if nothing else.

" _I uh, I cooked some fishcake earlier, there's still a slice in the fridge, if you know, you're hungry. I also have some bread and other things if it doesn't take your fancy…"_

Robbie looked up, at her modest brown eyes. She shifted awkwardly at this confrontation, her slippers making a small rubbing sound against the beige carpet. Robbie could hear some classical music playing from the TV somewhere else in the small house. He decided to humour Anna, just for a little longer, just to realise his surroundings.

" _You know what, that sounds lovely, I'll try some. Thank you…Anna."_

His host nodded, and motioned him to follow her into the kitchen area, which doubled as a dining area with a wooden table in the center. Anna opened the fridge, and reached in, and fished it out, having to navigate between a box of strawberries and a packet of cheese. She then placed it gingerly on the dinner table, before removing the clear plastic wrapping.

" _It's not much, really, if you don't like it, and there's every chance you won't, I have some bread and fruit just behind you…"_

Robbie plucked a clean fork from a nearby tray, and cautiously took a bite out of the cake. It was cake, but it wasn't sweet. It actually tasted quite salty, and it was thick, and it stuck to his mouth like molasses. It took some time of salivating to digest it all, but when he finished, Robbie left behind a semi-clean saucer, and a stained fork. He then looked over at the apprehensive Anna, who had been leaning against the far wall, watching his every move. It was slightly unnerving, but he understood that Anna was if anything, very kind, and warmhearted, ready to do anything just to make people happy. Robbie admired that selflessness, despite himself. He then wiped his mouth softly with a napkin.

" _Am I to believe you enjoyed that?"_ came a flowing voice.

" _A little salty and slightly colder than what I prefer, but those two come from refrigeration. It's….different, but really, thank you."_

Anna's face then turned from a deadpan into a wide, gratuitous smile, and she idly patted herself on the back. The smile was captivating to Robbie, it was so innocent and sincere, it washed over him. He didn't expect such gratitude to come from eating a simple leftover, but he didn't expect a host as friendly as Anna.

" _And now that I think of it, this dish had quite a mellow aftertaste."_


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Ziggy, being the last one yet to disembark quickly left via the rope ladder. The rope ladder swayed in the light breeze, as Ziggy half stepped and half slid down the ladder, risking some friction burns. Sportacus was left alone in his airship, hopping into the pilot seat, preparing to lock everything down before leaving. Checking the anchor, and retracting the propellors. He then made his way down the rope ladder, to his old home, Cortana watching him leave. She then looked around in the interior for one last moment, and powered herself down to standby.

The cottage looked a lot larger in person than it had from the sky. It didn't occur to a lot of them that the hero they all knew and admired had lived such a humble lifestyle during his younger years. The wood was ageing and calloused, the glass hat mottled slightly, but inside, they could see lights, and could hear the sound of a radio. Pixel shuffled nervously, as Sportacus rapped his knuckles against the door, the sound registering loudly, and emanating for some distance. After a brief pause, the door unlocked, and opened, revealing a man who looked very similar to Sportacus, but without the extravagant moustache, and dirty blond hair. He was slightly wrinkled as well, and wore a rather expensive watch, as Stingy had noticed.

He greeted Sportacus with an Icelandic phrase, and then motioned them all to come inside. He didn't smile though, which struck the teenagers as odd. How could someone not be happy to meet a relative after a long period apart? The group could hear the crackling of a fire, followed by a soft, but rough purr reminiscent of an older cat. The floorboards creaked slightly, but between the warmth of the interior, the colourful paintings of the sea, and the compactness of it all, it felt…. _homely._ To Stephanie, the lighting was even… _romantically dim._ After they had all stepped inside and taken off their winter coats, Sportacus patted their host on the back enthusiastically.

" _This, everyone, is my cousin, Bernard-"_

" _Bernie, please."_

The host cut him off, correctively, rather than rudely. He smiled subtley. He had been living in this house for some time alone, ever since his parents had moved to Europe. Sportacus had promised they would only be here for a short time, but Bernie was reluctant to let them stay. In the end, he had relented.

" _You guys must be tired from your travels, please, let me lead the way."_

Bernie led the visitors to the three bedrooms on the second storey of the cottage. The rooms weren't large, just enough to accommodate two people each, sleeping abreast on either two separate bunks, or in the case of where Sportacus' parents had once slept, one large king sized bed, complete with the most comfortable of mattresses, as well as being the longest. Sportacus paused as he walked down the corridor towards the end. The first door was half closed, revealing the contents it had futilely tried to conceal. Inside, were walls painted blue, a large blue exercise mat covered the far end of the room. Feeling the sudden urge to do so, he gingerly pushed the door open, hinges squeaking in protest. It was all coming back to him now. The bookshelf, with stories of knights, brave sailors, and superheroes filling its shelves, was dusty, and had been neglected for some time. The bed had been left, neat and folded, as always. It smelled of lemon, a fragrance that Sportacus loved. It was fresh and lively, much like him.

Stephanie was behind him, and peered into the room, and seeing him so encapsulated by the nostalgia of it all. His blue boots shifted on the wooden floor, and he turned around, bumped past Stephanie without saying a word, and left to unpack his bags, which were in his parents' former room, leaving Stephanie to absorb what he just had. She decided to open the wardrobe, which was still stocked with all the clothes a young child would need. She smiled at the pyjamas, trying to imagine Sportacus being small enough to fit into these. The sombre reality stayed within them though. Pictures painted the near wall, parallel to the head of the bed. Stephanie peered carefully. She could make out young Sportacus in some of the black and white pictures. She noticed him growing from a chubby toddler into a well-rounded small child, with messy hair and a straight stance.

" _Hey Stephanie! I was about to…woaahhh."_

Ziggy was mesmerised by the room, the colours, and the atmosphere. He reached upwards, and ran his fingers through the mobile hanging just above the bed. Sportacus must have loved watching the stars, because each star in the night sky was labelled and proportional in size. It was quite amazing. Ziggy then self-elected to sleep in this room, purely on the basis of it being Sportacus' old room. Stingy and Pixel were sleeping in the other guest room, leaving Trixie and Stephanie to sort out where they were going to bunk. This ended in a confrontation in the corridor, as Stephanie dragged her pink luggage towards where Sportacus' was.

" _Nuh-uh Pinkie, you don't have self-control around him. Who knows what you'll get up to in there."_

Stephanie blinked, and scowled at her friend, before trying to play some bluff.

" _Trixie, sorry, allow me to just squeeze through-"_

" _And get in bed with your crush?"_ Before Stephanie could open her mouth, Trixie yawned, and pretended to block her ears.

" _Don't play stupid with me, I've seen you get so doe-eyed over him, you're not fooling anyone."_

" _Trixie, don't do this. I'm putting my foot down. Get. Out. Of. My. Way."_

" _Alright, but if you end up vomiting in the morning and having a bad headache, I'll preemptively say, I told you so."_

" _You bitch."_

Stephanie then released her baggage, and shoved Trixie backwards, her body reacting to the sudden change in momentum. She staggered, took a step back, and rubbed her shoulder, where Stephanie had made contact. She was surprisingly forceful, given her appearance. Trixie then decided to not take this any further, and walked into Sportacus' old room, where Ziggy was already buried in reading a comic from the bookshelf. His eyes darted from top to bottom, ingesting all the content, and studying every detail. He was enjoying himself, unlike the other person standing in the doorway.

Pixel and Stingy were setting up their belongings and other things silently. Stingy had brought along quite a few belongings, many of which didn't actually serve any purpose, other than to remind him of home. His piggy, a mini-grandfather clock, and a wooden carved model of his own home, in an orderly line, which Pixel swore were exactly 10 centimetres from each other, sat on Stingy's nightstand. Pixel had simply unpacked his laptop, and was playing some games while Stingy went around his OCD-fuelled campaign to standardize everything.

" _Hey, um Stingy, you notice anything wrong with the uhh…girls lately?"_

Stingy grunted under the effort, trying to undo the zipper to his jacket. Not looking up, he replied.'

" _Eh, they seem normal, Trixie's a bit more anxious than usual, but our resident Pink is fine. Besides, who on Earth knows what goes on in their heads anyway?"_

Pixel nodded, and went back to his computer game. Shortly after, he crashed, and Pixel removed his headset in frustration.

" _Damn, almost had it that time. I need to remember that bit with the bomb and knife…"_

To his surprise, Stingy actually took this brief pause in Pixel's attention to his game to resurface their conversation.

" _Come to think of it, Trixie has been a bit more…edgy ever since that call with Phillip…Should I talk to her? And Stephanie seems to be getting less and less talkative and bubbly, around her. Maybe they're having a fight or something…"_

Then, he was interrupted by said girls in the next room down the corridor. Only the noise penetrated the walls, and although they couldn't make out most of the speech, Pixel and Stingy winced when they fished out _bitch_ and _jealous_.

" _Should we break it up?"_

The two then looked at each other, and both smiled.

" _Nah."_

* * *

Stephanie, trying to make up for earlier, had elected to help Trixie with her baggage. As Trixie unpacked her backpack onto the bed, Stephanie made the split second decision to bring both wheeled cases through the doorway simultaneously, calculating that there would be enough width. As she leaned back, in an attempt to move the seemingly heavy luggage, one of the bags rolled forward, much lighter than the other, hit Stephanie in the knee, and knocked her back onto her backside, before rolling slightly further and falling onto its side. Puzzled at the seemingly light bag, Stephanie decided to reveal its contents, with the pretext that it was possibly just a light load. What she opened instead however, might as well have been Pandora's Box, minus everything. Trixie closed her mouth, and brought her hands up to her head, as if to futilely shield herself from the angry barrage that came her way.

 _"You...you...brought an empty bag to stop Sportacus sitting next to me? Why?"_

 _"Hey Pinkie, you'll thank me the day he pulls your bleeding heart through the shredder."_

Stephanie gasped lightly, then darkened her expression, as her eyebrows united, as if amplifying her anger.

 _"Is that a threat, you sly...cunning... bitch!?_

* * *

Sportacus heard the commotion coming from the other room. He quickly ran down the corridor, floorboards protesting against his momentum, and opened the door. He saw Stephanie and Trixie eyeing off one another in anger. Upon seeing him though, Stephanie dropped her face, and lowered her head. Realising Sportacus was behind her, Trixie also decided to slump slightly.

" _Guys, what's going on? Tell me."_ He asked, gently but firmly.

" _Nothing"_ The two said in unison. Stephanie then pushed past him, and left, leaving him to eye Trixie, silently asking for an explanation.

" _You know, I'm sure this isn't news to you, but Pinkie's really into you. Don't take that lightly. I don't want to see her heartbroken."_

Puzzled, Sportacus nodded, and left, his mind trying to process what Trixie had said. He decided to head downstairs, to bask in the warmth of the fire. He watched as Bernie lovingly stroked his cat, with an adoration hitherto unheard of in humans.

 _Does Stephanie really l-…_ _ **like**_ _me that much? It's a bit much…considering she's so young. She has everything going for her in life. Why me?_ He sighed. He was pushing away a problem, rather than facing it. The true issue he had with Stephanie… _loving_ him wasn't so much that he reciprocate. He started to pull out memories locked away. Every time he had danced and held Stephanie, from the moment they met. Every time they foiled Robbie's laughable plots. But it was not to be. She was a bright, beautiful girl, with the world to before her. He would be tied to Lazytown, but he couldn't, to save his life, keep Stephanie away from her future. It was a simple matter: He could not afford to give Stephanie the life she was destined for. His wrist vibrated with the arrival of a new text message. It was Ziggy's home telephone number, but Sportacus knew who it was immediately and raised an eyebrow.

" _Hi Monica! Yes, I'm fine, thank you."_

" _Really baby? I hope you're having a wonderful time. I thought Ziggy would have burned down the house by now."_

Sportacus laughed half-heartedly at the joke, and spoke back into his watch.

" _Alright, I'll talk to you later when I have the chance."_

" _Don't leave me waiting Sporty, you know how much I miss you babe. Call me soon okay?"_

Sportacus agreed, and ended the call. He shuddered. Monica had been such a nice person initially. He had met her at Ziggy's 13th birthday, earlier in the year. Like Ziggy's other relatives, she had been helping organise and run the party, with Sportacus helping as well. He had been there, helping raise the bunting, some birthday games, and other tasks, all while Ziggy's attractive cousin had been watching. She was friendly, helpful, and quite attractive, but Sportacus only took the first two with any meaningfulness.

Monica had taken quite a liking, naturally, to the strong town hero, but it was after the party, during packing up, she, after one too many drinks _(Which she had kept in the basement)_ had gotten rather…. _wild_ , and had tried to claim Sportacus rather unceremoniously. He remembered the bitter colliding of lips, her arms carelessly wrapping around his neck in pure infatuation, and her almost evil grin, wanting him. Sportacus grimaced at the memory. _Why did I humour her? Why did I let her go through? Ugh, and now she thinks we're an item or something._

Sportacus then cycled through some pictures he had taken in Lazytown some weeks ago. He found Stephanie's photograph, and stared at it, losing track of time as he studied her flowing, bright pink hair, and her sweet, innocent face. Trixie's voice echoed in his head alongside his other thoughts. It was true; he really felt attracted to Stephanie in what he thought was a very platonic way. He had watched her grow up to become a teenager, but still keeping her sweet, friendly nature, surrounding her wherever she went. A sigh escaped between his lips. He could never be with Stephanie anyway. She was going to make and break a lot of hearts in future, and he wished one of those would be his, but ultimately, through their time spent together, he knew he was enough for her, and he washed himself out. He had vowed ever since he had met her, that, like everyone in Lazytown, he would protect them. And that is what he would continue to do.

* * *

That night, the cold air was seeping into the rooms of all the guests. Bernie was curled up on the sofa, with his cat, in front of the crackling fireplace. Pixel and Stingy went to sleep rather early, citing that they wanted to get up early to have a jog. Sportacus had said he would sleep at 2308, so as to not fracture his body clock, which had been adjusted to Lazytown. Trixie and Ziggy were next. Trixie was rather reluctant to sleep at the same time as Ziggy, fearing his hyperactive nature would deny him and therefore her any substantial rest. However, it was not to be, as Trixie found out.

" _Ziggy, if you want to sleep, sleep; don't stay awake with your phone under the covers. I need my rest, otherwise I get real grouchy….Ziggy?"_

" _Trixie…do you and everyone think I'm….small?"_

Trixie didn't expect this question to come from Ziggy. Usually he wasn't this vocal about his insecurities, especially about the fact he was the youngest in the group.

" _I think Ziggy, if you are small, it's not anything to be ashamed of. Being small is just another way of saying 'not yet'. Don't sell yourself short Ziggy. It's hard to place your question. You're taller, and broader than I am. I feel you are one of us. Does this answer it?"_

" _If it did, I don't feel any better. I wish I could hang around with kids my age, but they're too….boring and they don't understand me for who I am."_

" _And who are you Ziggy?"_

" _That's just it Trixie! People judge me for what they think I am. It's a judgement based on a judgement. It makes me feel insignificant, like what I have to say doesn't matter. That's why I hang out with you guys. You….listen to me. I…I'm sorry Trixie, I just wan-"_

" _Shhhh. Ziggy, don't cloud your mind. Relax, take some deep breaths, and feel the tension leave you."_

Ziggy did just that, and the sound of waves ebbing off the beach and resurging once more to claim it filled the back of their ears. The heater's element glowed slightly, as it countered the outside stealing heat. The two snuggled up inside their bunks against their pillows, to try and keep their faces away from the harsh reality of the outside world.

 _Feel the tension leave you._

* * *

Stephanie was tucked up in the wide, comfortable bed, under the down quilts. It was like being cocooned in feathers and flower petals. The covers were heavy enough to push her down slightly; She could herself sinking into the mattress, as it contoured her lean figure, adding to the feeling of encapsulation. The average person would have been asleep within minutes with this level of comfort, but Stephanie was staying awake, in anticipation, of the one moment that would change her forever.

 _Creak_.

Stephanie tensed immediately, reacting faster to this benign sound than a fly sensing a speeding palm.

 _Creak._

 _Not long now._

Stephanie feigned sleep, as she quickly moved to one side of the bed, making as little noise as possible. The covers rustled slightly, as the silhouette of someone Stephanie had been waiting for what had seemed like years, entered. The room was pitch black, and Sportacus wasn't expecting someone to be in this bed, rather they would be curled up on a vacant sofa downstairs. Looking around one last time, not noticing the slight inconsistency in the shape of the bed, he lifted the right side of the bed's duvet, and removed his hat, hanging it on the nightstand drawer handle. He checked his watch. _23:07:54._

Stephanie counted the seconds. _6, 5, 4, 3, 2…._

Sportacus slipped onto the right side of the bed, before lying down, letting his head sink into the pillow, and pulling the covers over his muscular frame. He didn't notice the slight resistance they gave as they were preoccupied with covering two long slender legs. His large fingers tugged at the covers one last time, before he closed his eyes, smiled, and turned over to face left. His brought his arms up to his neck, curling up against the edge of the duvet. He was about to shuffle again to change his position when he felt the delicate bristle of hair against his arm. Sportacus jumped, and then was about to move when an equally soft, delicate hand pulled against his left wrist, and, with a forceful tug, pulled him closer to her. Sportacus was shocked to see Stephanie's brown eyes, which were luminous like a polished bronze mirror. He realised what was happening, and threw down his card in desperation.

" _Stephanie, I'm sorry, I didn't expect you here, I should go-"_

" _Shhh…hush…"_ A tender finger rose up from underneath and ever so gently covered his lips, and yet might as well have been superglue. He felt a tidal surge of emotions and a lightning strike funnel into his spine.

" _It's cold in here….."_

Without saying another word, Stephanie curled up, face against his enormous chest. She could feel the slight indent of his crystal against her nose, and his rippling skin underneath. He then put her arms around her like a cradle and the world simply ceased to exist for Stephanie. She was lying down, in a foetus position, being guarded by a solid wall of muscle from the existence of responsibility and time. At this point, Sportacus was falling asleep, tightening his grip on Stephanie like a vice as he drifted off. Stephanie, drowning in bliss, was unable to surface before it consumed her, pulling her into the twilight. At this point, neither of them noticed, or heard the creak of the door, a distinctive _click_ and a slight chuckle, as their scene was immobilised in time for good.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading guys. Feedback is appreciated.**


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

 **This chapter is M somewhere from in the middle. You have been warned.**

* * *

" _I hope Ziggy likes these decorations. He's always been into superheroes and heroines."_

Monica pressed the Superman poster against the wall, flattening it with her palm, feeling the cobble-like surface of the plaster as it went. She had been in charge of organising Ziggy's surprise birthday party, complete with all the presents he could wish for, and enough games and entertainment to last the entire night, and some. She had roped in several relatives, and some closer friends, to spread out the workload on. The bunting, confetti, games, cooking, all was being handled well. However, there were several tables and chairs that needed moving, and Monica had called Sportacus to come along to give her a hand.

 _Knock_

She tensed, and smirked slightly, seeing her reflection in the shiny wrapping of one of Ziggy's presents. She covered the slight distance to the front door, and opened it, revealing a man with muscles beyond measure, a funny French-like moustache, and what looked like a loose swimming cap. He wasn't especially tall, and Monica easily matched his height without wearing heels. They exchanged greetings, and she pulled her to the yard behind the house, before earmarking certain furniture and their positions. Despite herself however, Monica had harboured a crush for Sportacus the moment she saw him, flipping extravagantly through town. _Gosh, he's so hot, I want in on that._ She was not someone to take no for an answer, and she and Bessie Busybody had made friends quite quickly in town, both sharing the same passions, for gossip, and all things fashion.

As she was moving a barbecue down the stairs leading into the backyard, Monica eyed Sportacus effortlessly shifting each table that could seat 8 people as if they were helium balloons. His graceful, yet efficient movements were captivating, like a smooth but forceful motion of an estuary. In him, Monica could see his dedication to his job, how focused and attentive he became when employed. It only amplified her attraction to him. In fact, the attraction may have been too physical, as she found out in the blink of an eye.

 _Trip._

Suddenly, for a moment, the world seemed to fly away from her eyes. She could feel herself gaining velocity as she hurtled ever closer to a painful, potentially serious impact. She began thinking of her spine, her head, and put her arms out behind her, a laughable attempt the stall her fall. But before any of this could painfully materialise, a huge net of muscle and skin lifted her away from her demise. She was shocked for the slightest of lapses, her brain not processing the images being couriered from her optics. Then, it all came flooding though, like a flood barrier that had been suddenly torn. She saw him. Not just the strong, fast, selfless hero she had heard about, but a caring, gentle, subtle… _human_. His blue eyes looked over her body for a millisecond, and his moustache twitched, which spoke volumes to her.

" _Are you alright Monica? You nearly broke…"_ He trailed off, not wanting to synthesise the unpleasant details.

Monica quickly regained her composition, and slid her legs off Sportacus' right arm, and planted them on the wooden steps, before straightening herself, and pulling up her blouse, which had rather embarrassingly marched slightly down her body during the debacle, revealing slightly more than what was necessary. She blushed as Sportacus then hefted the heavy barbecue down the stairs with ease, his sizeable arm sinews defining themselves even further, which simply amazed the young woman, who had never seen anyone so confidently move such a heavy load down a flight of stairs. A smile flickered across her face. Not an innocent one, but one with purpose, and thought.

" _Happy birthday Ziggy!"_

Everyone chorused in unison as Ziggy walked into his home, and turned on the lights. He smiled, and almost cried with joy when he saw all the effort that had been put in… _just for me._ He dropped his schoolbag, and ran up to his cousin, and hugged her tightly. She then kissed him on the cheek and put on his head a party hat, as Ziggy's cheeks became bright red. The festivities were underway, for the 13th birthday of Siegfried.

Relatives gathered around the table, as Ziggy cut each of them a slice from the enormous cake, that the local baker, Kelvin Lee, had meticulously prepared, together with only the finest ingredients. Cream that had been whipped continuously for hours, the finest flour, and dough that had been mead labouriously by his own calloused, skilled fingers. All of Ziggy's friends were present to enjoy their afternoon together, as their friend became a youthful teenager, save Stephanie and Stingy, who were absent, citing a visit to their relatives, with the usual half-apologetic ' _wish I were there'_ message. Pixel was enjoying his cake, using his computer to derive the ingredients and the recipe for himself, having firmly denied by Mr Strauss. Meanwhile, Trixie had spiked someone's cola with chili flavouring, and was biding her time, anticipating the unlucky recipient of her prank would react dramatically.

Sportacus, citing his dietary requirements, kindly refused to take a slice, and was on the verge of grasping some fruit from a bowl before Monica surprisingly dragged him into the kitchen by the shoulder, at which point she opened the oven door, and presented slice of cake no larger than her palm, and offered it to him, tentatively, both hands clutching the bottom of the oven plate.

" _It's sugar free. A token of my gratitude, for saving my neck, literally. I even asked your friends which fruit you liked best."_

Sportacus placed the cake aside onto the benchtop, and patted Monica politely on the shoulder, at which point she beamed a smile, and nodded.

" _Think nothing of it; it's what I do, but all the same, thanks, for being so thoughtful."_

Monica, stifling the urge to simply lean forward and kiss his cheek, simply maintained her smile, and walked past him, rejoining the rest of the troop. Sportacus then picked up a plastic fork, and delivered a forkful into his open mouth, savouring the taste. He could feel across his tongue, pieces of shredded apple, orange, and was that… _dragonfruit?_ Sportacus bobbed his head up and down in approval. It wasn't every day, or even every month he ate cake, or any food with unhealthy connotations for that matter, but this, _this_ was different. Smiling, he made a mental note to thank Monica again, and to have a long, winded talk with her. She seemed so innocently cheerful, humble and gracious, which was a rare hat trick to have in this town, many seemed to only encompass two of those qualities.

Later that night, when all the relatives had said their last goodbyes and had cleared off, leaving long lines of cleaved snow as their cars went, and after Ziggy had retired to bed early, Monica and Sportacus were left with clearing up the party's remnants. Monica dealt with more of the actual cleaning, while the town hero methodically stacked chairs and tables, as well as dismantling the decorations. Presently, the were cleared in the dining and front rooms, but Monica had retired to her own room, citing she had to clean up and make her bed, leaving Sportacus to finish placing all the dishes into the dishwasher. Shortly, he squeezed the door closed, and clicked the washer into motion, as the mechanical whirring and splash of water heralded cleanliness in due time. Rechecking what was left, and finding nothing, he was about to farewell his new friend, before hearing a voice, distorted from travelling through a solid door.

" _Sportacus, could you come in please? I need to ask you something about my wardrobe."_

Sportacus was puzzled, and in his 5 second journey across the dining room to arrive before Monica's bedroom, he wondered what she needed to know about her clothes. After all, he didn't see himself as a fashion mogul. _Maybe she's asking about her wardrobe literally. I could help move it, yes, that makes sense._ He turned the doorknob, and as the door panned across his field of vision, it revealed something he had not expected, from someone so… _What did I call her, innocently cheerful?_ Suddenly, his opinion of her turned upside down, and at that point, so did his judgement.

Monica stood, directly in front of him, not wearing the blouse and skirt she had been inside earlier during the party, but was now, in full view of Sportacus, wearing something much less…. _innocent._ She was wearing, in blood red, the most revealing of cocktail dresses, that barely reached down to the bottom two thirds of her thighs, which, instead, were covered by a black garter belt and black stockings, which contoured her legs as tightly as paint, and did so all the way down to her black, tall, nightclub-grade high heels, which gave her several centimetres over her target. Her face had been treated to some of the heaviest makeovers Sportacus had ever seen. Her lips were as red as arterial blood itself, plump as he had ever seen on any woman, and her eyelashes were plucked to the point where they might have been extensions of her eyebrows. Noticing him tense up and stiffen, Monica smiled seductively.

" _My question is, my friend, do you like what you see?"_

With that, she walked up, covering the short distance to him, maintaining her alluring expression, heels thudding against the tiled floor, and pulled him towards her into an infatuating kiss, as his unprepared, stunned lips collided roughly with hers. Shocked from the initial encounter, Sportacus was unable to react, his muscles not responding to his commands, and this inaction inspired her to take the intimate initiative, and pull him closer, until their lips were mashing together, sending alarm bells into overdrive in his mind. Clearly however, they were falling on deaf ears. Monica wrapped her arms around his neck, and slowly, inched her hands down his back, exploring his hardened torso. Sportacus, strained of his ability to think straight, knocked over his king in resignation, and wrapped his arms around her, still connected, causing her to groan slightly, as her vocal chords vibrated into his head. Pulling away, and gasping for air, Monica then smiled the same smile, and looked down at Sportacus' lower body, then down at hers, and back at him. Losing all control, as he was on autopilot; he picked her up, her legs wrapping around his waist, and from then on, the story could only be told by retrospectively examining the trail of clothes, starting with her dress and his shirt, littered with smaller, more intimate garments along the way, ending in her knickers and his boxers hanging off the foot of the bed, as the two made guilty love with the same burning passion that they had begun with. Monica had been running victory laps around him in bed, and was celebrating for every moment they were together. However, the moment Sportacus had the next day, with a smattering of sweat on his chest, red stains all over his neck and face, and a tingling spine, his stomach tied knots faster than his hands ever could. He felt the guilt, not just rain down, but _pour_ down, as if all the rain in the world were concentrated onto this single pinpoint deluge into his conscience. That day would always be a stain in his past, and he intended to forget it.

* * *

Annemarie was amazed at the detail and sophistication of Robbie's orthogonal drawings, sketches, and equations he had tirelessly derived and graphically represented on his laptop. He had even kept the background blue, despite it being unnecessary. Every millimetre and each superficial detail was recorded and stenciled. Anna couldn't grasp at how someone so brilliant could not be a multimillionaire flying in their own private jet to exotic tropical destinations, forget lodging at some local's modest bungalow. She quickly tapped into her relatively large science vocabulary, attempting to sound technical enough to not receive a patronising remark, but rather, instead, decided to scrap that. _Be yourself. He wouldn't expect anything else._

" _So you actually pioneered a fuel cell that creates zero emissions_ _ **and**_ _is cheaper than a conventional combustion engine? It seems too good to be true."_

Robbie sighed, with the optimal blend of exasperation and cynicism in his voice to speak volumes about his approach to his inventions.

" _Ugh, spare me days. Yes, I did it, but it's useless anyway. It'll be flooding in hell before Big Oil lets me commercialise this stuff. Do you know what they'd do to stop me? The answer goes way beyond denying me a patent, that's for sure."_

Annemarie was shocked at the cynicism that had just spurted out of Robbie's mouth. He was such a brilliant inventor, and yet, he wasn't blind to the cruel reality of the world around him. But instead of challenge it like any entrepreneur worth their salt would, he simply bent and submitted to it. That didn't seem right to her. Robbie was clearly being bound by his unwillingness to challenge adversity, his fear of failure, and his overall lack of enthusiasm he seemed to input when it came to actually spreading his knowledge. She would almost describe him as a social recluse.

" _So what's Lazytown like? Do you have a bunch of inventor friends around? Or are you more of a…."_ Her speech evapourated as it hit a lexical dead end, not finding a suitable phrase, in the interest of not offending him.

" _Yes, spare me the sugarcoating, I am very much a lone wolf, I live alone, I spend 23 hours a day, sometimes more, alone in my home. It's not easy, I'll admit. Often you're mistaken as a recluse, a loner; people tend to avoid you like a disease. It's like a social bottleneck, it only gets worse the longer you stay away, and through trial and almost-certain error, you only pursue solitude more. Have I spilled enough of the details, or would you prefer to mock me more?"_

Annemarie was stunned. She realised Robbie sought solitude simply because he was misunderstood, and had submitted to being an outcast. It didn't help his ancestral surname was really Rotten; It had taken several minutes of thorough explaining and diving through for Annemarie to grasp.

* * *

Robbie was out of his comfort zone. He had spoken more words to Annemarie in an hour than he had in an entire fortnight to the residents of Lazytown. He was grateful of her compassionate nature; not many people wanted to listen to someone called 'Rotten'. She never mocked him once, and even cracked the occasional joke, which Robbie, despite himself, actually laughed in response to. She wasn't scientifically illiterate either, especially evident when she had interpreted and drawn interest to several of his inventions, especially the ones that made simple, monotonous chores easier. Anna was especially fascinated by his instant hair dryer, which utilised an industrial-strength compressor compacted into a handheld device that could remove water from hair within seconds. She had even offered to be the first customer, until Robbie had spilled the costs of production. At her raised eyebrow and light gasp at the revelation, the figure in his ridiculously gaudy striped shirt and matching child-sized vest, spilled his flaws, his imperfections, his…. _human qualities._

" _I'm not a money-man Anna, I'm an inventor. Costs are of no problem to me, but that approach is exactly why my products aren't hauling in bank. But…I don't know how to change. I always take a perfectionist approach to everything…I never seem to be capable of factoring the needs of other people; marketing, as many call it….."_

Anna resisted the urge to just take the lanky man in an embrace, in her dainty arms, and remind him that he deserved and had companionship. Then she wondered why she was resisting in the first place, and not finding a suitable reason, hugged Robbie Rotten, causing him to jerk slightly, his nylon trousers rubbing against the sofa, before reluctantly wrapping his arms around her back, becoming slightly more comfortable with each passing second, like a crisps bag slowly reforming after being scrunched.

In truth, Anna had cried inside when she had heard Robbie tell his story of reclusion. Robbie had spent his entire life underground, both figuratively and literally, separated from the lives of others, laughed at for his name, and then his antics. The effects only compounded in his tragic cycle. He would be more and more unlikeable, and that would encourage him to be alone even more, which resulted in him being misunderstood yet again. It broke her heart, listening to Robbie tell it as if it meant nothing to him, as if it were simply an insignificant detail in his life. She, from the moment he ended his story, just wanted to hug him like as if he were a large dog, just to express her compassion and empathy. The two linked arms for a minute at least, the longest that, Robbie Rotten, had touched someone continuously since he had last been to the dentist, which he only remembered after he had dug up medical statements.

* * *

" _What do you mean he tried to bed her? Ugh, the very thought makes my gut churn. You're sure about this? What? You've got a…alright, I'll talk to you later, but not yet, I don't think I could hold down my lunch. Look, you'd best try talking to her uncle first. He's got plenty of authority. Why am I even helping you with this? My parents would kill me if I got involved in this. You need me? Well….alright, but I swear, if this is another prank; no-one's going to laugh. You're playing on the high stakes table now."_

* * *

 **Well guys, thanks for reading, I appreciate it. If you have time, just write a few words of feedback. I'll answer as many questions as I can, without giving away anything. ;)**


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

" _Temperatures set for minus 8 in daylight hours, set to drop to below minus 18 as we head into the evening. Stay tuned for more weather upda-"_

Pixel turned off his radio app. It was 7 in the morning, but it was still dark outside, and he still clung to his blanket as a toddler to their mother. Stingy had just groaned and shifted slightly, heralding his return from the twilight. The two were sleeping parallel to each other, against the side walls of their bedroom. Stingy had whipped his phone out, the charging cable making an indent in his otherwise smooth blanket silhouette.

Sportacus had planned for them some days ago to go ice skating on a nearby frozen lake. The gang had all agreed, despite the fact that they knew it would be a physically demanding activity. For Pixel, it would be the hardest. He was always known as the most sedentary of the five, being one of the last to get into sports, and one of the first to drop out. After joining accelerated classes, he didn't have time to play football, or rugby, or basketball. He had spent most of his time cooped away in his home, fingers endlessly tapping keys. He had to replace his keyboard twice in two years from the sheer stress and wear. Were it up to him, he would just stay home and play games all day, but Stephanie, _Stephanie_ kept him going. She had always been the one to encourage him to seek an active lifestyle, tear his face away from screens, and… _get out there._ He had had a crush on her since day one, of her arriving in Lazytown. He had even been awkward and mistaken her name for Shelby on the first day.

" _Hey um, Lachlan?"_

Stingy stopped swiping, and his eyes moved to his left, and stared across at Pixel's silhouette.

" _Ugh, it's never good when you call me that, what is it?"_

Pixel actually contemplated whether he should divulge what he intended to in front of Stingy's uninterested demeanour.

" _Do you think….think..that..um…"_

Stingy raised an eyebrow. Pixel may have been the maestro of cowering himself inside his own room, with only screens for company, it didn't reflect well on his emotions. His body movement, slight changes in expression, spoke volumes about him. It was almost funny that he was oblivious to it

" _That Stephanie's heart is taken?"_

Pixel fell silent.

" _Oh, don't give me that look, I think you are anyway. My eyes aren't painted on you idiot. Your question? Oh, definitely. I'm starting to think your eyes are painted on. Have you not seen the furtive looks she makes towards Sportacus? They're not even furtive anymore. More to the point, why do you think her and Trixie fell out?"_

Pixel made a strangling sound, and shuffled uncomfortably. Stingy felt a pang of regret.

" _Oh crap, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…."_

" _No, you did what you had to Lock. I was asking for it. Ugh, time to open my eyes eh?"_

The two chuckled slightly, Pixel's dripping with sorrow, as the two just lay there, waiting for the inevitable sound of boots on wooden floorboards, a slight creak, and a bulky figure rustling them awake.

* * *

Stephanie found herself on top of a tall hill, overlooking the beautiful horizon before her, a tiny paddock and the shoreline. The chilly winter breeze was lifting her pink hair like a peacock on display. The grass was full, green, and lush. She could feel the dew beneath her calves, the tips slightly prickling her, keeping her alert. It was still fairly dark, the ambient temperature was near freezing, and she could feel her ears being blasted by the wind slightly, hair no longer covering them.

" _You found my favourite spot."_

Stephanie recognised the voice before the wind could carry it remotely close to her. The slight accent excited her, and her legs tensed up, as she held her knees with her arms. The grass parted slightly next to her, and the most beautiful man she had ever known sat down, right there, beside her, shielding her from the wind. Her hair soon stopped flailing about, and she could hear the slight flapping of his hat.

In the dim light, Stephanie looked intently, at his deep blue eyes. They were full, kind, and gentle, as if they reflected their owner with mirror-like precision. Stephanie peered into them, eyes narrowing, and then widening again.

" _Sportacus…"_

He turned, and stared at her, her at him. His eyes waited intently, attentively, for her to ask, as if they didn't know. His world became her, as he focused intently, like he had always done, every time she had ever asked him for anything. Each time, he had never failed to help, or be comforting. Now though, she was about to stretch his capabilities.

" _Sportacus, have you ever…been in love before?"_

His eyes widened, and his mouth opened slightly, neck tense, as he shifted uncomfortably again on the grass. The wind slightly distorted her voice, and a passing leaf her face too, but he never lost sight of her. Then, she pulled him closer by the leg, her arms trembling with anticipation and desire. But as if fate itself was teasing her, calling her bluff at every moment, Sportacus straightened slightly, breaking her grip. He paused, looked at her, cocked his head slightly to the left, and shook his head.

" _I have not. I have heard stories-, well, we all have. No shortage of movies and books out there. Why? What's on your mind?"_

Stephanie let out a bitter chuckle. He was so ignorant, so naïve about the dilemma unfolding in front of him. _How did he save all of us, never missing a beat, and yet be so blind?_

" _What's on my mind? Here, let me show you."_

In one fluid motion, without hesitation, without the cold, or the flapping of her hair in front of her, she pulled him into the most intense kiss, its passion hitherto unknown by mankind. Her lips formed a complete seal with his, as her burning desire flowed, the floodgate finally being opened in a fiery cocktail of ecstasy and bliss. She wrapped her arms around his neck, legs around his waist, surrendering control of herself, finally, to fate. She waited for him to pull away, and pull a shocked, yet understanding face. But he didn't. He pulled her even closer, his large hands pulling her into his chest, almost crushing her lungs. Some strands of pink hair caught on his moustache, and her tongue was itching for a release, but was denied. Unsurprisingly, Stephanie was first to pull away, for the sake of maintaining her consciousness, as her diaphragm sucked in air greedily.

Then, it hit her, like a nicotine craving. In her eyes, she didn't see anything, but him. Not the grasses, not the leaves blowing, or even the slight mist she had created when she had exhaled into the air. She only saw him, and _wanted_ only him. Her goal, right then, was not to do anything but be in his arms, be entwined with the man she had loved for so long. She then pulled in further, like a chain smoker raising another guilty pleasure to their lips.

Then, she opened her eyes again, and felt a slight tingle in her body, as the world seemed to first shift, then melt, and she could only stare in horror as her surroundings began to fall away from her reach. She felt gravity take her over, the ground melting, as her love dissolved into nothingness. The sky became blacker than the darkest of nights, and at the last moment, she realised reality had finally broken down the barrier into her. _NO!_

Her eyes opened. The wooden ceiling was staring back at her aghast expression. She had the urge to fling the covers off, and cry in desperation, but instead, she turned over, and stared at the other in the bed. Or more accurately, what had been him, and now the only trace was a slight indent in the bed, and a corner upturned in the quilt.

* * *

Sportacus had gone running that morning, as he always did. The nostalgia was hitting him harder than the breeze. Each fence picket, each stepping stone across the creek, and each overgrown path surrounding the paddock. He flipped over the creek, and kept running, each footstep likely the loudest sound for hundreds of metres around. Soon, the dirt path gave way to streaks of white, as the sound of soft wavelets completing their arduous journey across the Atlantic started to become prominent. Soon, Sportacus was running on grainy sand, with some snow laced within. Slightly further out to sea, there was a thin layer of ice shielding the water, before finally relenting to the rough waves of the open ocean. The ocean breeze was rather cold, but through speeding up, demanding more from his body, he could withstand the air stealing his heat. Albeit, there was only so much he could take. After sprinting at near top speed, shoes leaving deep indents in the sand, he came to a stop, just next to a large rock, which was acting as a natural seawall.

His sweat began to evapourate vigourously as the wind encouraged it to leave him. He climbed to the top of the rock, and placed his backside on the calloused surface of the rock, feeling its roughness through his tracksuit pants. Today was too cold a day to be outside running, but it was the only place where Sportacus could be alone. When he awoke, he had had to escape Stephanie's slight grip on his clothes, without waking her. He remembered the peaceful look on her face, her soft cheek pressing against his chest, and how reluctant he had been to leave her lying, her hands clutching at nothing. It didn't strike him until then, as if the wind had carried that superficial detail to him as he sat there.

Looking at the horizon, he realised the sun would be up in just over half an hour. With that snapping his focus back into reality, he retraced his steps, and began a slow jog back to his airship.

* * *

" _Wow, cool! That smells awesome!"_

Bernie sighed, as Ziggy peered over his shoulder in the kitchen. Instead of cooking a traditional Icelandic breakfast, he had opted for omelettes, which he had hoped wouldn't receive the traditional culture-shock fueled _I'll pass_ or _No thanks_. In the end though, Ziggy proved to be even more annoying, Bernie regretting his choice even more with each passing moment. He was so very peppery, like a spring lamb following its mother around. It didn't just follow quietly, it would frolic around, creating noise for no apparent reason other than attempt to expend its seemingly infinite amount of energy. In fact, he was so caught up in thinking of metaphors for Ziggy that he didn't realise the commotion unfolding right behind him.

" _Hi there kitty! My name's Ziggy. Wow, you're so fluf-hey! Stay still!"_

Bernie almost dropped his spatula, and raced over to the other side of the kitchen to stop Ziggy asphyxiating his old cat. Seeing him, the cat made a beeline for him, kicking against Ziggy's side, which caused him to finally release his grip. Bernie stared daggers at the now guilty-faced boy, who apologised by raising his hand to his forehead in a pseudo-facepalm.

* * *

" _Do you have an appointment, Miss Busybody?"_

Bessie raised an eyebrow, as if new to the concept. She then arrogantly waved her hand, shrugging off the formality.

" _Oh don't be silly, I don't have time for that. Now, where is Milford?"_

She barged past the reception desk rudely, not heeding the fact that the mayoral office wasn't to open for another few minutes. She banged on the door, the sound reverberating through the chamber.

" _Where is a mayor when you need one? Milford? Milford!"_

She heard a figure groan slightly from behind the door, and she then heard two feet awkwardly make landfall. Then, the door unlatched, and a very surprised, and yet weary Mayor, opened the door. The gap was barely wide enough to accompany Bessie's girth as she waltzed in arrogantly.

" _Milford! Now it's come to my attention that you will be attending a dinner party with some ministers from London tomorrow?"_

" _Well, I arranged it with-"_

 _Yes of course you are. Now, I need to find my best outfit, and oh, of course, do my hair! How could I forget? I must clear up this scrappy hairdo. Do you think a haircut is in order? Of course not, that would ruin my look, wouldn't it? Don't pack a thing Milford, I'll handle everything! Oh, and make sure that we arrive fashionably late! Wouldn't want to look my best for nothing!"_

The mayor was taken aback, as usual.

" _Yes, er, of course, Miss Busybody, I'll er-"_

" _Oh you lovely man, I knew you were up to it! It's why you're our very own Mayor. Now, you ensure that you book business class flights, and for heaven's sake don't forget to lock up."_

With that, Miss Busybody bade a brief farewell, and left, heels thudding the tiles as she did. Milford was left stunned by the encounter, trying to vocally remind himself of what needed to be done.

" _Yes, fashionably…early? Yes, early sounds good, oh and yes,_ _ **business**_ _class, and what else? Oh dear.."_

He was duly interrupted by a paper aeroplane flying through the window, in a distinctive blue hue, intrinsic of only one sender. The aeroplane landed gingerly on his desk, displacing a yellow file, which swayed, as it fell gently on the floor.

" _Ah, Sportacus, always sending mail, what a lovely chap."_

Milford briskly unfolded the paper aeroplane, and wondered why it was blank.

" _Oh silly me."_

He flipped the page over, which revealed a small horizontally captured photograph, no larger than a passport in area, showing the entire gang ice skating on a frozen lake, all posing for the camera. It had been taken on a timer, Milford had deduced, given that the picture included everyone, including an older disheveled man who looked similar to Sportacus. Ziggy and Pixel seemed to be the least comfortable on the skates, evident from their lean against Sportacus' torso. Stingy was slightly bent down, hands in pockets, Trixie had gone for a swan-like pose, with one skate on the ice, and the other trailing her, hands in the air. Stephanie had the most striking pose though, and likely the most painful. She was performing a split on the ice, in front of Sportacus, with her elbows on the ice, fists balled with their knuckles under her chin. Milford gasped slightly at the position, but quickly calmed himself. He then chuckled slightly, and then simply smiled at the picture. Everyone was delighted, and that meant he reciprocated.

* * *

Stephanie was indeed, delighted. The sun was finally out after a long hibernation; her friends were all dancing on the ice, except for Pixel and Ziggy, who were… _dancing in their own, unique, abstract way_ , as Trixie had put it. Stingy and Trixie were fairly proficient at skating, as they competed against each other in a straight line race across the kilometer-long lake. Sportacus was naturally, effortlessly skating, posing, backwards, you name it, but he was never flamboyant, just _patrolling_ as Ziggy had once quipped. Bernie however, was the real ice skating champion. He spent more time on one skate than two, visibly, and blitzed past Stingy and Trixie several times. Sportacus had confided that he had enough talent to be a Winter Olympic athlete. But the music, _the music_ was the most entrancing part of the experience. A favourite childhood song, one that he often asked Sportacus to dance with, was being played from Stingy's phone, and the sound could be heard for several hundred metres.

Stephanie parted her legs slightly, and skated in a circle, her legs forming the diameter. The dance was different, much more…. _fluid_ on ice, as well as graceful. In an additional move best left to the ice, the two locked hands and skated in a large circle, their grip tightening on each other as the centrifugal force started to tear them apart. For Stephanie, she used all her might into holding on, as if he were everything to her. She felt the heat from his fingers, as their hands compressed against their counterparts. It was more starkly felt, when the cold air rushed past them, unable to penetrate the bond. After some laps, Sportacus would pull her into their final position, which was always fixed, it hadn't changed since the two had danced the first time, some years ago.

From afar, Stingy passed Trixie on their rudimentary drag strip, as the girl decelerated slightly, to witness Sportacus and Stephanie dance in perfect harmony. She bobbed her head slightly to the music, and noticed that each time the two would connect, the time they spent intertwined would increasingly lengthen. It made her almost furious, but not quite. It was enough however, for her to not see Stingy speeding towards him, barely avoiding an awkward collision with her chest by roughly colliding with the ground instead as he slid past her on his backside, which he accepted would result in a scene far more explainable.

" _Oh crap, sorry Trixie, I thought you'd see me and well.."_

" _Yeah, right. You sure you wanna pass up some free skating lessons from the expert?"_

" _Jerk."_

While Stephanie was in his arms once again, she laughed, as she always did, but then, instead of straightening, she turned her head over, his then moving to accommodate hers, and stared intently in his eyes again, like she did the night before… _in her mind_. In his eyes, she didn't notice that hers were reflected. In the five odd seconds they stared at each other, estranged from their world, Stephanie saw his character writ large, contained in his gaze.

Then, she tensed slightly, as he used his free right hand to gently caress her forehead, brushing away the small hairs that blocked their path. It was as Stephanie had imagi- _dreamed_ , and had always done. With the gentlest motion she could afford, her arm slowly made its way to his neck, ready for the final charge to victory. Then, as if an actress following the script word for word, second for second, she leaned her head in, to close the distance. Stephanie used her right hand to pinch her thigh slightly, to ensure that she was, indeed, in the medium of reality. Despite this however, she still half-anticipated the world to crack, and for him to part unceremoniously.

And strangely, as if a genie were watching, that was exactly what happened.

* * *

 **Sorry for lack of uploading. I have 2-3 more in the pipeline. School's hit, so I'll definitely be slowing down. As always, please read and review.**


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

 **Hi guys! I've been quite busy. I'll admit it - I was getting lazy with this story. I grossly underestimated how much free time I'd have on some weekends, and I didn't want to accept it, so guess who spent their afternoon playing Tetris? I know...**

* * *

" _Someone's in trouble!"_

Sportacus quickly scanned around, pulling away from Stephanie's doe-eyed gaze and saw… _nothing_. Bernie was skating quickly on a slightly banked left bend; Stingy and Trixie were racing, at high speed, but nothing serious. Ziggy and Pixel were even beginning to skate independently. Otherwise, there was no one for at least a kilometer around. But then, an acoustic signature all too familiar to inhabitants of Iceland reported loudly, from _beneath_ Sportacus. It took no time for him to act, as he then quickly and roughly shoved Stephanie away from him, breaking her grip of him, after which she fell backwards and slid on her back several metres. Then, in the blink of an eye, the ground literally fell away. Without a stable surface to push off, Sportacus was helpless as the ice beneath him gave way.

Stephanie gasped in unbridled horror, at the selflessness of what Sportacus had just done. With the crystal still vibrating furiously, the above-average hero fell in the murky depths of the lake, arm scraping against the edge of the hole where he had previously stood, desparately attempting to establish purchase. Bernie was first to act, after seeing Sportacus disappear into the depths. Throwing up slight tufts of fine, shredded ice, he skated furiously to the incident site, where he lowered his head to peer down. Half a minute passed, with only the ripples from the initial displacement visible. Without warning however, akin to a phoenix reincarnated, a huge, blood red fist almost connected squarely with his face, as it groped at the slippery surface, desperately trying to establish grip. At this, Bernie swiftly and efficiently, took hold of that arm with both his hands, straining, and struggling to lift out Sportacus vertically.

Stephanie was still in shock, as were the others, who were still at various distances from the site when Bernie made contact with Sportacus. Fuelled by desperation, she fumbled to her feet, and awkwardly skated, almost tripping twice, the few metres she had covered when he had so selflessly saved her. At this point, the gravity of the situation hadn't quite unfolded, as adrenaline took overwhelming priority in her bloodstream. As she arrived at the edge, she stared in amazement as Bernie lifted a man who quite likely did not weigh less than a feather, out of the icy lagoon. His hat heralded his head, his head, his agonised expression, and then, a bloodcurdling scream in pain, which attacked Stephanie like a thousand daggers to her heart, she even doubled over in shock, as if the sound had had substantial momentum.

Soon though, Sportacus was waist high in the water, and able to hoist himself out, barely. Bernie then changed from pulling his arm to wrapping his coat around his torso, dripping with glacial water, which, free of its icy prison, began to freeze in small droplets, and clung, to his skin. Stephanie couldn't withstand the agony of watching him writhe on his back like a boned fish, and attempted to disable her senses, futilely attempting to dampen her pain. Then, she heared Sportacus' heavy grunts, descend into heavy breathing, then strained breathing, as his diaphragm slowed, then…nothing. Stephanie's eyes then opened up to their widest diameter, and within a blur, she was at Sportacus' side, kneeled beside his motionless figure, then looked up, pleadingly at Bernie, as if he were about to decide his fate.

" _His blood vessels have coiled up, brain freeze, if you like; we need to get him warmth."_

Pixel, who had finally arrived on scene, dialed into his phone, before hesitating as Bernie gave him a dismissive wave.

" _Nearest rescue helicopter is an hour away, the nearest hospital twice that distance, they can't help him."_

Pixel was about to open his mouth, but Bernie wasn't having any of it.

" _No, listen, there's nothing they can do, don't bother._

Over the next ten minutes, the group each donated one piece of clothing just to maintain circulation within Sportacus' system at acceptable levels. Stingy had been the last naturally, despite blaming his down jacket as hard to depart from. Pixel sent out a radio distress call, on all frequencies, hoping for some assistance. Secretly, he wasn't doubting at all, that his programming would save Sportacus.

A flurry of ice and sleet formed around them, moments before a familiar and constant _swish_ of propellor blades, as an intimidating, bulbous shadow loomed overhead. As the airship lowered, the central platform retracted out of the center. Likely the most efficient task ever performed by anyone, Sportacus was tentatively rolled onto the elevator, as Cortana took automatic control of the vehicle, and hoisted him up.

Within moments, within the airship, everyone were as busy as bees, rushing about, delivering warm water, preheated blankets, thermometer, and warm beverages, as Cortana ordered them about. At During this frenzy, Trixie stopped moving, when which holding a very hot glass of cocoa, was a less than optimal move. Her eyes, between the blur of Stingy and Ziggy cushioning his body with warm towels, noticed the pink girl, simply kneeling at her side, hands and sleeves soaked with glacial water, as she dabbed a warm handkerchief over Sportacus' still expression, unmoving as if the ice had truly frozen it. Trixie watched in amazement as Stephanie was so tender, and loving with her movements, as if they were caresses thinly veiled by the platonic cover of medical attention. She ran her fingers lovingly through his blond hair, as gently as a spring breeze, simply caring for him. However, before she could continue her nosy gaze, her hands finally had their message read, and she yelped slightly, almost dropping the hot mug.

* * *

Cortana was quick to answer their questions. As soon as the last bolstering towel had been placed, and the last blanket had been laid, her soothing voice, akin to a feminine Bob Ross followed.

" _His heartbeat's erratic, his temperature's less than what's acceptable, and his breathing's not steady either. It's all up to his own devices now; we've done all we can. I'd say he's stands a chance, as long as enough blood reaches his brain. We won't know for at least a day. Stay if you want, but I assure you, he's in the best shape we could possibly afford."_

An hour after her friends had cleared out; Stephanie was still, unmoving, kneeling at his side. She wouldn't have left him, for the world, for anything. She cried silently, tears running down her face. Her eyes began to play her most treasured memories, in front of her, like a watermark over her vision. Every moment she had spent together with him, every comforting, one on one conversation, every dance, every party and sporting match, played, at light speed in front of her, and yet, she could make him out, as easily as she had done all those years ago. She buried her face in the coat covering his chest, tears escaping through her half-closed eyes.

" _Sportacus, I-"_

She sobbed, head in his blanket, her subsequent exhale sucking in loose fur into her lungs, at which she coughed furiously for several seconds to expunge.

" _Sportacus, I, what was it I used to say? There's always a way? Tell me Sportacus, what way do I take now? Where is my safe square, my solid ground? I can't…-"_

Moving air in her lungs started to conflict, with her voicebox combating her sharp, erratic inhalations and exhalations during her sobs, and cries of grief, and regret. This self-contained turbulence played hell with her ability to speak comprehensively, cancelling each other out. Not that she cared, not that it mattered. Stephanie's next words couldn't have been more from her heart if they had been engraved in it, with a knife as sharp as lovesickness itself.

" _Since the moment you flipped over that yellow wall, I knew I would love you. Back then, I was afraid to love you. Then, I became afraid to tell you. And now, I'm afraid that I might lose you. I would have gladly died in that lagoon, were I given the choice. It's because I love you Sportacus, in every possible manner one can."_

It is often said that one has no clue of what they possess, until they lose it. This could not have been truer for Stephanie, as she crudely brushed pink strands aside, then tilted her head, and gently, as their lips gingerly collided in pure silence. It wasn't the passionate, fiery kiss she had always dreamt of, it was a world away from depictions in romantic films. It was tame, forgiving, and brief, and yet for her, carried the brief contact told more chapters of her than she could have imagined. She clasped her hand around his, and smiled, finally feeling the romantic tension unwind around her heart. Then, she exhaled, only then realising then that she had been holding her breath. She even broke a pale, pained smile.

* * *

" _Play it again."_

" _Are you sure,_ _ **Romeo**_ _?"_

" _Cortana, shut up."_

Sportacus watched again, on screen, and listening intently to each sweet word, flowing out of the speakers in her unmistakable voice, as she then leaned in and kissed him. She had sounded so… _sincere_ , her tone only matched by even the most talented actress. Each word was dripping, saturated with her love.

He buried his face in his hands, and his emotions played havoc with his ability to reason. After he had woken up, within twenty hours, Stephanie had been almost crying with relief and joy, masked only by her delicate hands. It had been the longest he had stayed still for years, a fact that genuinely worried the others.

Bernie had bid them farewell, as they had travelled back to Lazytown. The first night back home, Sportacus was simply watching Cortana replay the footage constantly.

Sportacus looked up, in puzzlement, as he contextualised what Cortana had just said.

" _Who, how?-" "You know, it'll break her heart when she realises what went down."_

" _Oh, I forgot to explain. Well, while you were ah,_ _ **indisposed,**_ _your mistress-"_

" _Friend._ _She's a_ _friend_ , who got the better of me from being a seductive minx."

" _Apologies, I'm programmed to use the most accurate definit-"_

" _Cortana, just continue with what you were going to tell me."_

" _Fine, when you were indisposed, your,_ _friend_ _, sent me these messages, and linked to them were, well, what I'd call….lewd…"_

Sportacus checked his messages, and reeled back in shock, as he gazed at the photo, then deleting it within an instant, the click audible throughout the entire airship interior. It was one thing having the odd admirer eyeball him over their shoulder, followed by a flirtatious wave, but this was, for Sportacus, too far.

Sportacus was at odds with himself. He almost felt the mass pressing on his shoulders, as if he were Atlas himself, propping up his sky full of emotional torment. He had Stephanie's heart, and he always would. It wasn't news to Sportacus; it was more of a characteristic of him being a role model. There was inevitably going to be some form of attraction, a _crush._ That was always the fallback term though, categorically funneling all the young girls who he knew had crushed on him, into a single folder. This generalisation had functioned; a way to sweep the dirt under the carpet, so Sportacus could sleep easy. Now though, the game was up; Stephanie had forced his hand, and now, he was at odds with himself.

" _Shall, I play it again?"_

Sportacus placed some strands of pale pink hair on his table, and flipped into the bed, one side still carrying her scent.

" _No, that won't be necessary."_

* * *

" _Goodness, this is unacceptable! Why, I ought to throw that…sly…good for nothing…pervert_ _out of town myself! To think we trusted him all these years, to take care of Lazytown's children! Oh, the humanity, it makes sick well up in my throat at the very thought of it."_

Bessie Busybody, rather awkwardly, tore the photo in half, clean down the center, separating the two from each other, as their position was severed, Sportacus' half landing on top of the paper bin.

Phillip could only hesitantly nod in agreement, as Bessie stormed around the room. Phillip wasn't exactly thrilled to witness this debacle, and stood awkwardly, itching to disengage. Monica, who had been present gossiping with Bessie before Phillip had politely delivered a sealed letter, was attempting futilely to cool the raging fury as Miss Busybody paced the room angrily.

" _I'll set the police on him, then I'll send more police to storm that airship of his, and then I'll, I'll-"_

Monica raised an eyebrow.

" _Calm down Bessie dear, it can't be that horrible, she could have climbed in after he fell asleep."_

" _EXACTLY! She must be addicted to him, like the drug he is, to sleep with him like this. Ugh, she's not even legal yet. Clearly, she's being brainwashed, taken advantage of, before she's even learned what heartbreak is. Oh believe me Monica dear, I'll show that hopping blue elf what being taken advantage of is."_

" _Excuse me Bessie, I must be off."_

Monica left the room, leaving the window open for a relieved Phillip, who beat a retreat shortly before Bessie could call out to him. In the end, her voice was met by the stern slamming of the door.

Monica was in slight shock after what she had seen. Sportacus wasn't a pervert, or a child molestor, or a paedophile. The picture didn't bother her as much as it was a challenge to her dominance. She would simply have to bare her fangs slightly, show that she was the superior candidate as a mate. Which wouldn't be too hard, considering the challenger was an innocent, young, underage pink obsessed teenager. She laughed slightly in defiance of her as she strolled down the street, catching the glances of some passers-by as she did so.

Trixie lay in her bed that night, crying slightly, as she realised the scale of the flood she had released. The night she had captured to two entwined replayed constantly in her field of vision, every guilt-soaked moment, as she had even, _enjoyed_ the process. Guilt, guilt described her emotions right then. She had grown jealous of Stephanie, her ability to attract any guy she would like, make any friends she pleased. In essence, the world was at her feet, awaiting her to indulge in it. Trixie had seen herself at the other end, the dark side of this world. She had been rejected, spat out as sewage, forced to endure lengths of solitude, lacking companionship, compassion, and… _love._ Somehow that night, that release as she pressed the button on her camera felt blissful, like the high one would receive from cocaine. It was addictive, and her history of being a prankster only compounded the satisfaction. Now though, the effects had worn off, leaving Trixie an emotional wreck, unable to comprehend or justify her actions.

 _I'm sorry, Stephanie._

The atmosphere was colder than outside, it felt, despite the fact that it was below freezing outside in the winter air. Sportacus eyed his forthcoming opponents, and quickly made a rudimentary SWOT analysis of his mental resources and reasons. Milford and Bessie had just entered the room, formally and sinisterly placing their aged backsides into the leather, that sunk slightly, possibly revealing their… _gains._

Stephanie was sitting beside Sportacus, puzzled at the current situation. She had only just arrived home from Ziggy's, and had been surprised to see Sportacus at odds with her uncle and pseudo-aunt, and sensed the invisible tension.

" _Ah, there you are my dear, please; make yourself comfortable, preferably without touching his filthy hands."_

Stephanie blinked, shocked.

" _I know, don't fool yourself Stephanie dear, he's deceived all of us, but that's all over now. I'll make sure he never so as appears near you, ever again."_

This time, it was Sportacus to blink in shock.

" _I don't understand, Bess-"_

" _Don't play stupid with me Sportacus. You tried to claim her as your own. I've known men who share several of your traits. Oh yes, give me that innocent look, the one you've worn for 8 years. You're not fooling anyone. Oh? Still wearing it I see? Well, explain_ _this_ _then, to me,_ _ **Romeo.**_ _"_

She whipped the picture in front of his face in a short arc, making a slight _swish_ as it went by. Sportacus peered at the picture for one second, then two, and that was enough. That was… _that night_ , when Stephanie had curled up beside him, for the sake of warmth. He opened his mouth in protest, but was easily beaten to the chase.

" _No, Bessie, you don't understand, it was me-"_

She glared at Sportacus, and as if she really did have two faces, she changed to a calm, gentle expression as she pivoted her face towards Stephanie.

" _Yes, I know the story. He made himself irresistible, to a vulnerable, sweet, innocent girl like you, gosh, you're not even sixteen yet, and it disgusts me. You're addicted to him Stephanie, it's quite clear. But fortunately, you won't suffer the consequences of your…infatuation with this, this…._ _ **monster."**_

Then, a knock on the door, and the sharply dressed receptionist batted an eyebrow, as Milford glanced for a short explanation.

" _Apologies Mayor, a Miss…Monica Wilson here to see you, she said it was…personal. Would you like me to…?"_

Bessie, being herself, cut in.

" _No, send her in Manuel."_

Manuel nodded politely, and motioned down the hallway for Monica to make her entrance, which she did.

She was wearing an attractive, slightly small blouse, a blue miniskirt that was evidently far too short, and heeled shoes, with her hair flowing down her sides, akin to models in shampoo ads. She locked on to her target, and without further ado, waltzed up to Sportacus, who had only just stood up, hand out to shake it.

" _Darling, there you are, I couldn't sleep; I was so worried. But you're right as rain now aren't you?"_

She kissed his cheek rather forcefully, and wrapped her arms around him, seductively leaning against his torso and nuzzling her face into his neck, her motions concentrated on the one task, to maximise jealousy emitted from Stephanie, who was fit to burst witnessing the scene before her.

" _How about we go to my home and make up baby? We'd both love that, wouldn't we?"  
_ Sportacus was powerless in her hands, as she placed her finger over his lips, silencing him, and tenderly clasping his hand in hers.

Stephanie, who had been witnessing their…. _fondling,_ placed her hands over her mouth, stifling the mix of shock and rage compounding within her. Sportacus, who had managed to avoid Monica's plump, inviting lips, pushed Monica away, surprising her.

" _I'm sorry baby, did I get too close? Here, let me help-"_

" _Monica, stop, I don't want this, I don't-"_

" _Don't let her conquer your dreams Sportacus, she's just a silly child with a girlhood crush. But what we have is something far beyond that. When we made love Sportacus, I felt it; I felt your heart bond with mine. Now tell me, isn't that what you want?"_

That was the last straw for Stephanie. She shouted out in fury, and sobbed as she ran out of the room, footsteps pounding the floor as she went. Manuel barely saw her blitz out of the building, as her footsteps continued to pound the pavement.

" _See? If she loved you, she would have claimed you for herself. Don't stoop down to her level Sportacus, I'm the one who truly loves you. She is just a naïve little brat who believed what she had was real."_

Bessie and Milford left shortly after, having accomplished what she was clandestinely hoping for, and left in a victorious mood, leaving Monica and Sportacus alone.

Sportacus was at odds with himself. His heart felt it was torn between the two. They had both sent him the same puppy-eyed signs that they had fallen for him. At that point in time however, possibly while under Monica's spell, he truly believed that Stephanie deserved a future without him. Some part of him still trusted Bessie and Milford, as if they really did know best for Stephanie. Sportacus couldn't bring himself to tie her down to such a vague, futureless town, and still tell himself Stephanie was living life to the fullest.

With that cruel reality setting an emotional asymptote in his mind, he turned his attention to Monica. Her gaze began to overpower his senses, her delicate features, her plump, full lips, her flowing, beautiful hair, and most of all, her smile. She was definitely attractive, more than anyone he had ever met, but Sportacus couldn't bring himself to say the words. As if his crystal understood his situation, it blinked furiously, bailing Sportacus out of his encounter.

" _Someone's in trouble! I have to leave, excuse me."_

With that, he pushed her away, leaving her slightly annoyed, and chased after Stephanie, who had disappeared into the distance, leaving indents in the shallow snow.

* * *

 **Slight drama in next chapter. Stay tuned. Read and review.**


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

* * *

Stephanie wasn't in her room. She wasn't in the playground. She was in the one place where Sportacus would understand she needed solitude. On the outskirts of town, there was a long, winding path, up a steep hill, and the summit was a regular spot for fine dining and sightseeing, given the enormous vantage point over the town. Occasionally, local adrenaline junkies would hang-glide off these steep cliffs, while others simply admired the view. Stephanie however, did not fall into either of these categories, as she sat, simply staring at the sunset, not caring how the fierce light stung her eyes. She didn't care even that the bitter wind caused her ears to curl, and her to shiver violently. She uncrossed her legs, her heels parting the grass as they made landfall, and this particular location seemed like déjà vu to Stephanie, and she was unable to place it, until she heard the one echo that did so.

" _You found my favourite spot."_

She didn't turn around. She didn't flinch. Her mind did all of it. Even without his pulsating crystal flashing across her retinae, she could feel his presence, his worried face, his tensed muscles, and his warmth. Then, she shuffled closer to the edge of the precipice, sliding slightly. She turned her head ninety degrees, so Sportacus could barely see her face, mostly the silhouette of her nose.

" _It's beautiful, I'm sure I would have enjoyed it, under different circumstances."_

He shifted his weight onto one leg uneasily.

" _It's too cold here, you'll get sick-"_

" _Just, stop. I swear you've repeated that, in exactly the same tone to me at least once every year. It's like you're frozen in time, oblivious to change. Can't you see past that, you condescending patroniser?_

He kneeled down slightly, still wearing that helpful, forgiving face Stephanie had come to hate. She put up on hand, and he stopped.

" _I'm not an idiot Sportacus. I'm not the little girl you always see me as. Time to wipe your goggles,_ _ **hero**_ _. That's all I've ever tried to do. I've always tried to differentiate myself from the others, strived to make myself more in your eyes. But you're always holed up in your emotional fort, and the drawbridge is never coming down is it?"_

She scowled at him, and he kept his mouth closed, unable to speak.

" _Ha! What's this!? The mighty Sportacus, our resident_ _ **hero,**_ _lost for words? I never thought I'd see the day. Well, too little, too late, because I came here to accomplish what I set out to."_

She peered defied his gaze one last time, and peered into the abyss. Her frame of vision shot forward, almost in anticipation.

* * *

At this point, Sportacus' crystal was oscillating violently, the noise penetrating the racing winds. Reflexively, he outreached his right arm, twitching his fingers slightly, pleading for her purchase. Followed by complete lack of acknowledgement of his action, she shuffled forward again, if but some centimetres. Gravity was beginning to tug at her ankles, having snared them, as they inched deeper, leaning against the cliff. That was the final straw. Sportacus lost all doubt, and his next action was completely automatic; It was as much of a reflex as blinking.

Without wasting a millisecond, Sportacus leapt forward, with the agility of a pouncing leopard. His left palm flatly connected with the bottom of her chin, cocking her head upwards, and knocking her unconscious. Her body then gave way, and fell limp into his arms; head drooping as gravity hungrily pulled it further down. His cries could be heard afar, long and loud, his voice carried by the chilly wind. Weeping profusely, he plucked Stephanie away from the edge, and carried her in his arms, as gently as a mother would for her newborn, no compromise made in ensuring comfort, and set off down the winding, hilly path, barely a hundred metres away. Her face seemed to be bereft of the tension that had plagued its look, as Sportacus precipitously carried her up the rope ladder, the gale swinging it like a pendulum.

* * *

" _Whaddaya mean you made a dream machine?"_

" _I can't dumb it down anymore; I'm afraid of heights. I'll explain it again: In the form of this recalibrated virtual reality headset, this device will radiate certain wavelengths of infrared to embargo the mind's analytical ancillaries. Subsequently, rapid eye movement is artificially simulated, then induced, effectively inflicting a form of dormancy on the cerebrum. Specific patterns and neural communique are also introduced during this stage, akin to a playwright scripting dreams. Understand?"_

Stingy gazed at the wall surface beyond Pixel's somewhat irked expression. His eyes darted softly between close-ups of Pixel receiving accolades for his prodigious technical prowess. Diving deeper into his laughably limited scientific vocabulary, he roughly translated Pixel's hieroglyphically uttered speech.

" _So, this…contraption gives us lucid dreams?"_

" _Pretty much…"_

" _Have you even tried to patent it?"_

" _Well….not really….does presenting it on my YouTube channel count?_

Stingy's left eye was twitching with annoyance. How could Pixel be so nonchalant about groundbreaking innovations? Compounded with his previous inventions, his methodically rote businesslike mind was crashing. The notion that Pixel hadn't bothered, let alone attempt introducing and promulgating his inventions was astounding. He could be approaching the position of billionaire entrepreneur within a diminutive time frame, if but requiring some…. _abetment._

" _Ugh, Pixel"_

He lowered his eyelids, while simultaneously rolling them in exasperation.

" _Have you given the slightest damn morsel of thought, of the rarity of aptitude for inventing?"_

" _Well…."_

" _Want me to jog your brain? Here are some names: Zuckerberg, Jobs, Musk."_

" _Oh, I know the last one; they made these cool air fresheners!"_

Pixel waved his hand around his drawer's top aperture, which responded with a _beep_ as it slid outwards, revealing a worn cardboard packet, half gouged of its contents. Stingy facepalmed instantly at the sight, and shook his head in pique. After this short synapse, he finally realised why Pixel's room reeked of the same smell that would leach from old, decaying books opened after years of neglect.

" _Why do you even invent all these devices if you never plan to use them longer than an hour?"_

… _.._

" _I don't really know, I just like…I'm not content with just having a rendered animation on my screen. I like to hold them in my hand, and see my brainchildren come to fruition in reality."_

" _In the same way you prefer talking over video calls I gather?"_

Pixel shrugged his shoulders in resignation at that comment. Stingy folded his arms, sleeves rustling against his vest.

" _Pixel, just contemplate your options here for once. Imagine if you applied and received a patent for this stuff. You'd have to beat off tech corporations with an electric stick and fence once they clamour for a licence. Make them your bitch. Use that capital to build more stuff my friend, and you have a sweet business structure and proposition.'_

Pixel shifted uneasily in his padded chair, which responded by stiffening the rear, to compensate for his slight slouch. The pen, usually nestled in his ear, had somehow journeyed to his fingers, which were twirling it leisurely.

" _I don't know Lock, sounds kind of big-time to me; Hell, we're still in school, completing sums and writing essays. We'll cross that bridge when we arrive huh?"_

Stingy folded his arms, and raised an eyebrow, his face forming his usual face of disapproval. Despite being irked by Pixel's response, he had learned over the duration of their long friendship that Pixel's seemingly kind, and gentle refusals were solidified by an unforgiving wall of defiance and willpower. He wasn't going to be convincing him otherwise anytime soon. With that, Stingy cited he needed to return home, and the two bade farewell.

* * *

" _Why won't he love me back?"_

Stephanie had woken alone in Sportacus' airship. Well, not _alone_ per se, the friendly, hollow voice of his computer had greeted her. Stephanie's initial instinct was to exit the airship immediately, leaving an angry, heartbroken note for Sportacus to read. But instead, her inquisitive mind replayed the events of the night before. The howling wind, the eternal depth of the precipice. It all seemed surreal, like a dream, until she realised she had a growling headache, tantamount to Sportacus' ability to knock people out. She didn't cry; her tear glands were already exhausted from the day before. Instead, she just buried her face in her hands, and slowly released her sorrow, until Cortana had asked her.

Cortana paused for a moment. She was obligated to help Sportacus; that was her duty. Was it then, part of her directive to help the citizens he assisted? He was often defined as a hero in the town, so therefore, if she was a…(She quickly searched her library for a matching term) _sidekick_ , _yes, that'll do._ If she was a _sidekick_ , was it her duty to help those Sportacus could not?

" _Miss Meanswell, you are mistaken. He truly loves you, more than anything in the world. Would you like me to….prove it?"_

" _You could show me a damn video of him recounting Romeo to the last word and writing Keats' entire collection and I'd be none the more convinced. I want to listen to those words come out from his_ _ **own**_ _voice, not synthesized."  
_

" _I assure you, Miss Meanswell-"_

" _Stephanie."_

" _I assure you,_ _ **Stephanie**_ _that all these films are genuine and captured in real time, without any interloping on anyone's part. Would you like to see the relevant data?"_

" _I. Said. No."_

 _Why are humans so stubborn to logic?_ It infuriated Cortana that Stephanie was refusing to acknowledge the presence of crucial information, rather employing a staggeringly bullheaded approach, clutching the ' _seeing is believing'_ principle to laughable extremes. _How did humans ever establish basic scientific theorems without the ability to accept reliable, unempirical, second hand data, let alone conquer the world?_ Cortana was at odds with herself. Her plan had been to convince Stephanie that she was loved, but what to do if she downright refused blunt logic and spat in her face?

" _Stephanie. Remember one thing: Sportacus always tries to do what he believes is most beneficial, that goal hasn't changed. His selfless application to that goal has been the staple reason for his existence here. Now, apply that to why he won't accept your love. Isn't it clear?"_

She shook her head.

" _He loves you too much Stephanie, he believes he isn't worthy of you. He'd break your heart all over again, if it meant you would forget loving him, because he'll always be devoted to this town, and you'll find yourself with the world at your feet. If you love him, it'll only make it more difficult for you to foster the future both of us agree you are more than entitled to. Your life is going to be beautiful Stephanie Meanswell. Both Sportacus and I agree decisively on that. You will find love where it suits you, not where it happens to be. Your future is bright Stephanie, don't snuff it out."_

Before she had finished, Stephanie was almost howling with laughter, as if Cortana had told the joke of the century. Cortana's processing matrices were reacting furiously, unable to determine her emotions, at that point. Was she, happy, now that she knew why? Or was she being….. _sarcastic?_

" _Don't bother Cortana._ _ **You**_ _are both horribly mistaken, you know that? You presume, that somehow, despite the fact I almost_ _ **killed**_ _myself in sorrow, I am willing to live without him? The world at my feet? To hell with that, he's my world, forgive the cheesiness. Look through your databases again if you need to define that. I don't blame you for being blind to love,_ _ **Cortana,**_ _because you'll never understand it, regardless of number of cameras and….hormone sensors. I guarantee it, neither of you will. I'd throw my life away, if it meant I'd see his loving smile, one last time in the hell I belong in."_

Stephanie straightened, and checked her watch, which thankfully had remained in her pocket. _0812_ the eerie green font displayed. Stephanie needed to blink twice, to adjust her body clock, maintaining her stare. It was too early to anticipate Sportacus returning from a jog, while it would be a squeeze for time convincing her Uncle she had been in bed all night. As if she had been reading her, the rope ladder suddenly deployed, allowing Stephanie one final opportunity to glance around Sportacus' home. Not gaining any insight, she left.

The most important question for the now alone artificial intelligence could've been summarised in a single word. To Cortana, empirical observation was a simple matter of analysing cameras. The harder questions were inflicted upon her processes when she had to excavate deeper into the multidimensional matrices of reason. The most important question for Cortana was not who, what, or how, but _why._ Stephanie had hit all the notes of truthfulness and sincerity during her short speech in perfect harmony. There was no doubt that each word she had uttered, dripped with authenticity. Cortana simply could not place it.

Surely, the purpose of any life form was to sustain itself, above all priorities? Sure, attraction for mating purposes, to reproduce was an integral part, but nowhere had Cortana ever found, one mate willing to die for their other. Stephanie was the salmon swimming against the vicious deluge of logic. Why was Stephanie so willing to sacrifice her own life, devaluing herself to the point of presuming her place in hell? Within the next three seconds of furious thinking, Cortana finally broke free.

* * *

Trixie stared into her camera lens. The breeze lifted her blinds apart, allowing for a slither of light to engulf the lens in a palette of spectral colours. Trixie folded her arms, and rested her chin on them, before hearing a knock on the door, heralding the arrival of his unofficial boyfriend.

" _Trix, you haven't called, texted, or tried to communicate. You fell out with Stephanie pretty bad….?"_

Phillip trailed off; leaving Trixie thankful he hadn't tried to sugarcoat her actions. . Trixie always found it hard to love others. Her mind often played a mental version of _détente_ with the rest of the world around her in this respect, just to keep her ego afloat. Even now, she was one of the few girls in her school who wouldn't want to kiss Sportacus, or snuggle up with him, but seeing Stephanie aspiring and uncovering her purpose in him was the final straw. Trixie saw her future down an extremely narrow and dark scope, minus any prospective target at the finish between the crosshairs. At this point, it had eaten away at her rational thought, jealousy hijacking her.

" _What's your future Phil? I'm assuming you see yourself in possession of one, unless you're in the same hole as me."_

…

Phillip paused for a second.

It was such a broad question, itching for any response, regardless of relevance. She was asking it purely out of her need for sympathy. The existence of an answer alone would satisfy her query. One part of his subconscious pulled him towards a cheesy ' _One with you in it'-_ esque response, if just to complete the circularity of watching romantic movies.

" _I'm not certain. If I was, I'd probably pitch a spooky tent and charge people to glare at my crystal ball. Where's the fun in our lives if not in the chase? Sometimes, I feel sorry for people like Lachlan. His purpose was defined the instant he first drew breath. If having to experience life first hand meant compromising certainty, then where do I sign?"_

Trixie wasn't one to obscure what her mind was often engrossed with. He only had to see her anguished face during her time alone at school, and her morose body language and gestures, to anyone who even dared pay attention to her. Somehow, Phillip had found himself forded the abyss between society that constantly scrutinised her as antipodal, and herself. But with those words, Phillip knew they were accomplishing their true purpose, as her troubled intellect pieced together his dialogue.

" _So, are you going to apologise to Stephanie?"_

….

" _If it makes you feel better, I know I would. She seemed to take it pretty-"_

" _You think this is about Stephanie!? She could wilt from my life for all I care; it sickens me, watching her lose control of herself over Sportacus, I can sometimes feel the sick halfway up my oesophagus. She thinks her fate lies alongside him, what a joke! That hopping blue kangaroo is the most overrated member of this town, reminds of crummy children's TV heroes. He's just a showoff; how can he act like a mentor, when he flamboyantly somersaults around town like a circus vagabond? And how can so many people be so shallow to see **that** as role model material? And don't get me started on the masses of girls crumbling all over him!"_

Phillip's face reeked of shock, clearly expecting some redemptive, upbeat acquiescing with reality, rather than a full flown raging rant. Despite being on the opposite team of the gender balance, he still harboured a profound respect for Sportacus. He patted his own chest idly with his left hand, noting the distinct, yet uniform detail, a product of admiration and aspiration for the lifestyle often forgone by the prevailing generation. It peeved him slightly, eyeballing one of his heroes being disparaged in such a manner. Despite Trixie establishing herself as rather particular, Phillip would have, on no account, anticipated such a deluge of abhorrence from her.

" _I grew out of respecting him. He attempts to empathise, and yet still can't grasp the concept of it. He still acts like a divine personality that mere mortals cannot amount to. Now we couldn't forget that could we?"_

… _.._

" _Trix, you know I came here to ask you out right?"_

Trixie's apprehensive face melted away, as Phillip overcame the depressing mood that had settled like fog.

" _Really?"_

" _Yeah, I've got nothing to do. I figured you'd be moping around in the depths of sadness about your future anyway. Besides, if you are going to have a future, it'll unfortunately have to be with me."_

" _Oh, the horror."_

The two laughed sarcastically, but even the most dimwitted of onlookers could see their chemistry.

" _Come on, there's this great new Spanish restaurant that opened 'round the corner. Pablo Fan-something-or-other is the chef who runs it; I heard they do a scrumptious paella."_

" _I'd be there yesterday, but you'd be there last century, so lead the way."_

Trixie left her chair, which ground against the varnished wood floor, as she pushed off. Walking out of the corridor, Trixie's father nodded silently, in a motion so slight and cryptic only his daughter could interpret.

* * *

Sportacus had just arrived in his airship, after rescuing a kitten (W _as it the same one?)_ from the _impossibly lethal height of one metre_. The atmosphere within was fresh - dehumidified, thankfully after a day of snow. Snow was a problem for his airship. The exterior on top wasn't sloped enough to deflect slow falling snow. Sometimes, it would collect, and hinder the solar panels. Sportacus had learned the consequences of not attending to such as issue, by being forced to learn in the moment how to land an airship without power. He had learned his lesson, and had anchored his airship, much like a tent, onto a plot of fallow land, a kilometre away from the nearest suburban areas.

His most recent letter did not open with the bright, cheerful, words of admiration from kids who knew of him, in Lazytown or otherwise. Instead, this envelope was pristine, lacking any colourful stamp, opting for a bland, emblem from the Royal Mail. The transparent window reading _To Mr._ was a blatant red flag that this letter was definitely not going to contain sweet words of idolisation or praise. He freed the slip of paper from its prison, and absorbed its neatly printed contents.

…..

" _So, the idea of this …restraining order is you not being allowed within Stephanie's whereabouts? I find that extreme, don't you? Besides, there's channels for appeals, right?"_

Sportacus paused, refolded the pale leaf of paper, and neatly slid it, returning the paper into its envelope, with the efficiency matching any robot.

" _Hardly anything I can dispute with this Cortana. All pans out neatly, and swing the pendulum easily towards her uncle and Bessie. I don't have a leg to stand on in court. Any judge will see an innocuous, guileless, exploited girl, being interminably pursued and cozen by a senior, unmarried figure with a history of….capering with children. That's an untenable position to clench on to."_

" _And…you think this is just?"_

" _Why does it matter? It's not just the picture. You and I both concede that Stephanie can't clutch me to flourish. If her uncle postulates with that, then I have no problem, even if the execution was rather…contentious."_

Cortana remained silent for a moment. For a normal person, it would be a moment of thought. For her, it was an equivalent to a month of thinking compressed into a microscopic time domain.

" _Do you see who she is…for her?"_ She chirped diplomatically.

" _Doubt me?"_

" _I'm not privy to this thing Sportacus. But after listening to her….heart to heart, as you might say, I now realise how resolute her campaign for her ambition truly is. If I may, I find it rather ignorant of you to see her otherwise. You've fenced her in all your life…Magnus. Time to open the gate."_

" _What are you trying to say?"_

" _You taught her well. Of that you should be proud."_

* * *

 **If you're wondering where Lazytown's famous #1 villain is, or threatening to burn my computer over his exclusion in recent chapters, fear not: Your prayers shall be answered.**


	13. Chapter 13

**_Hiya all! Thanks for being patient. I had bits and pieces of homework to swim through before I could get here, apologies for the delay. Enjoy!_**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 13**_

Ziggy had woken up early that day. 0644 early in fact. He had just fallen through the twilight, evidenced by his arm gingerly stretched out, fingers eager to grasp onto his elusive lollipop. His eyes protested slightly, at being forced to dart precociously around the semi-dark room, as reality finally flooded into his conscience. He mentally cursed.

Setting his objective, his legs, which felt connected to his mind via water, slipped off the bed, colliding, rather than planting themselves upright on the floor, which stung, having its heat stolen the night before. Ziggy felt unmotivated, as if for the past 8 years he had been ushered by an alien force out of bed and to school, and only now was he experiencing life bereft of it. The withdrawal process wasn't pretty. School didn't start for another two hours, but early morning starts were implanted within him, during the most pivotal month of his existence, when he had embraced an active lifestyle.

As he left his bed and entered the living room his foot brushed against what felt like some folded paper, taking some seconds to register as an envelope that had been delivered. It was written to Monica, which didn't surprise him - at least, not nearly as much, seeing the flowing, elegant pink cursive the name was written in. Now, Ziggy had been taught to respect privacy, but when he connected the dots, the emotional minefield made itself clear to him. There was only one plausible explanation for the purpose of this letter. Normally, Ziggy, even in his groggy form, could brave the arduous journey across his living room, and to Monica's door, but unfortunately, his willpower faded, before and he awkwardly embraced the warm carpet, near the heater, attempting to regain some warmth.

 _Just for a moment_.

* * *

Monica woke. Her black hair was splayed out across her face, her eyes groggily preparing for her morning jog. To many, jogging in the early morning during winter was crazy, if not suicidal. Monica however, had become accustomed to the biting cold of the outdoors, especially if it meant maintaining a healthy lifestyle – As if she didn't have enough reason to do so already. She crudely braided her hair, with only partial control of her fingers, and slipping on two layers of tights, relatively warm from the residual heat in her drawers. He shoes were a cross between the fashionable running shoes seen through pristine windows at outlets, and the utilitarian, broad, durable boots worn by physical labourers. For a frosty, snow covered route around town, they were ideal, if slightly heavy in step.

 _"Christ, Ziggy! Have you been sleeping there all night?"_

Ziggy's face lifted, his neck straining under what it felt like was 2 tonnes of big-headed flesh and bone. His eyelids were heaving dumbbells, his arms set in concrete as they propped him perpendicular to the cold carpet. Within, albeit a drawn out blink of his eye, Monica was by his side, hands on his shoulders, as if attempting to nuzzle a response out of him.

" _Hey, what's going on Ziggy?"_

Ziggy sat up, and stared at his cousin. To anyone, even him, Monica carried an aura of materialism. Her wardrobe had the odd designer piece inside, with a four figure price tag, as well as two drawers dedicated specifically to cosmetic products, almost none of which Ziggy could name. Indulgence was her middle name, it seemed. Had her chromosomes aligned differently, Stingy would likely have been her arch rival. Monica had everlastingly shrouded her lust for material in front of Ziggy however, which he found strange. Ziggy had never understood adults, let alone girls. Monica was often open to conversation with her younger cousin, and had absorbed volumes of him in doing so.

Then, Ziggy noticed Monica's roughly done hair, which, in addition to the darkness of the room, triggered a small flashback, which for him, was usually his most recent meal. The bunting and the colourful decorations flowed back and then... _the aftermath._ This wasn't recent, and for once, not nearly as innocuous as the average sentence uttered from Ziggy's mouth. In fact, the subject was, quite literally, _above average._ Of course, he hadn't… _peeked through the slightly open door_ …had he? He was still only 13, and even the slightest whiff of a mention of …. _intercourse_ drew opened an entire oil drum of worms around him and his classmates. And yet, there he had been, witnessing it unfold, only two pieces of underwear, a garter belt, a blouse and t-shirt away.

" _Monica, why did Sportacus…take you…"_

The penny was released. Monica's worried expression dissolved, and she could almost hear the penny descending, accelerating rapidly to its inevitable contact with Earth. The physics equation even ran through her head, for some reason or other. She mentally kicked herself in the backside, at overlooking a child's tendency to stay up long after their earmarked _sleepy time_. Part of her still disbelieved that Ziggy would have compromised his plush sleep cycle just to ask the same question in more attentive circumstances.

" _Ziggy, go to sleep; now's not the time."_

Ziggy was at odds with his fundamental beliefs and aspirations.

 _Sex is a…dirty word…filthy thing isn't it? Why would Sportacus…..It's her fault maybe? I just..don't know…._

Ziggy had idolised the blue suited slightly above-average hero the moment they first conversed…over lollipop flavours. At first, it was hard to believe the benefits of not eating sweets. Clearly, they made one feel pleasure, was that not the point of living? Sportacus graciously held ajar the door, allowing a new dimension to flood into Ziggy's lifestyle. Ziggy had quickly found not only pleasure in sports, but _purpose_. Shortly, seeking pleasure in activity had been knocked off his priority podium. Down went the pictures of sweets and explosion of colour diversity, each representing, in their own chromatic crypt, a certain derivative of sugary treats. Attempting to wriggle his way through a self-induced maze of fanboy stunts came as a result of his obsession with attempting to reach the asymptote he so avariciously desired to meet. Up went pictures of superheroes, which he greeted individually each morning. They were…humanity writ large, the ultimate goal, the final solution to our deficiencies, were they not? Attempting to wriggle his way through a self-induced maze of fanboy stunts came as a result of his obsession with attempting to reach the asymptote he so avariciously desired to meet. Superheroes: they were always a step ahead, ever so thoughtful, and a beacon of leadership, and consequently never delved into the lower regions, of immoralities, or social taboos.

Now however, the clock was reversing, and Ziggy's perspective was turned on its head. His mind's boundaries negotiated with each other in the least diplomatic manner possible, until finally concluding that, clearly, the external threat had somehow corrupted the system. The new dilemma that arrived some seconds earlier than expected revolved around whether his involvement was valid. _Sportacus is free to do as he pleases…right?_ This deep thought was too much for his innocuous brain to decrypt, so, there and then, instead of relenting after being humoured and patronised as was in his past decade, Ziggy decided to take the initiative, and handed her the letter.

 _"One of my friends wrote this, it's for you."_

Her hand took some moments before grasping the latter from Ziggy's outstretched hand. The page had a slight pink hue, the colour diluted so as to not camouflage the pink cursive that was imprinted on it. A small tear liberated the contents entirely, and she unfolded the paper, still crisp and dry.

 _Do you love him?_

Monica paused, as the titular inquiry rocked her mind to its foundations, leaving in the rubble, a pile of uncertainty. Had she not made it obvious enough? But then again, love, infatuation and mere attraction were all three rough and unforgiving oceans, requiring the allegedly godly power to part them, and plot the course.

 _If you love him, I mean, truly, you need to know this. I know nothing about love, but I know almost every detail about him. Beyond what you see, and I know you love what you see, he's the most affectionate and caring man I've ever met. If it weren't for him, this entire town would be_ _different...I would be different. He_ _loves everyone in this town, treasures them us his own family. You'll need to sacrifice and drop everything, endure more pain than humanly possible. Is he worth it to you? Or is he just another handsome man?_

* * *

" _And there, is_ _Eyjafjallajökull, Iceland's most famous volcano, infamously generating a gargantuan ash cloud, smothering much of Europe recently…."_

The bored voice of the tour guide had reeked of repetition. Robbie had almost raised an eyebrow in sympathy. Being paid to just repeat anything, let alone _uttering the same words_ , and retrieving the exact same responses, was a concept that drove him to the edge of sanity. It was a reason why he never advanced further with his Master's Degree in electronics and engineering. Conforming to many people is fairly simple, in fact, it's even encouraged, the flip side being monotony and loss of sovereignty over self-identity. Robbie never understood that, why people would choose to lie to themselves, and dissolve their character, based purely on consensus. Sure, some degree of conformity was required to pass the education system with flying colours, but Robbie soon burned all his bridges with his past, choosing to emigrate to the purported backwater of life in the North Atlantic. In fact, he had never gone beyond a light, albeit obligatory conversation with a taxi driver, on delving into his past. _Moving from Iceland, having a degree in Engineering, oh yes, the weather's been fine; Oh? Uber's taking your money? Things not as bright as they were?_

It was when he moved to Lazytown, did he realise how tempting conformity truly became, as if Lazytown's price for it was on fire sale. Sometimes, he would see people engaging in their intimacies on the very bench he would egregiously nap on, while drawing apprehensive and peeved expressions from onlookers, as well as the occasional remark. That was six years ago – Robbie had since never slept in public, for the sole reason of lack of solitude. In general, he hated people, and in turn, they called him a social outlier and recluse, deepening his hatred for the bulk of humanity. Akin to the poverty cycle, it only drove him further and further into the embracing depravity of cold solitude, where he at least could suffer _alone_ , without the judgemental eyes of others piercing him.

With that rather unpleasant memory pulsating in his mind, he forcefully shoved it out of his conscience, and relaxed, in the surprisingly comfortable sofa, that had some woollen fabric draped over the surfaces. It reminded him of home, for better or worse. Even in that room, in front of a crackling gas fire, Robbie placed his ridiculously small blankie over his lab and snuggled up against the wool, it bolstering his mass as if it were still alive. At this point in time, Robbie was literally insulated from the exterior of the world, despite doing so on foreign soil.

Annemarie had just arrived home from her job as a veterinarian. Her sleeves had a slight coffee stain, and there was a tired, lethargic limp in her step. Despite evidence of restricted melatonin, the early morning shift had sapped her strength. She was feeling tired, but also… _lazy._ After not so much placing down her bags as dropping them, she plodded, with the mindlessness of an automaton, towards her living room, where a nice, plush sofa, plus maybe some packaged snacks, awaited her ravenous tongue. Like a fly attracted to sugar, she could feel herself enter the living room, as the tiles gave way to fluffy carpet. Choosing not to enter her sofa the dignified way; Instead she had opted to simply attack from the rear and flank the opening. _Oh yes, I feel it, now, I just need to roll onto the-_

At this rather untimely point, her vision finally registered- It registered the tall, lanky figure snuggled against the back of her sofa. Rather inconveniently, her legs, a result of her over eagerness to relax on her sofa, were resting, intrudingly, in his lap. Robbie, needless to say, had been awoken unpleasantly, half shocked at the debacle that had occurred during his sleep.

" _Oh gosh, Robbie, I do apologise, I just arrived home and I didn't see you. I mean, I did see you I guess, but I never realised you were there – Well, what I mean is….."_

Robbie's disinterested face was enough to click the _pause_ button on her vocals. She cleared her throat, and straightened herself, before apologising yet again. Robbie had stayed completely silent the entire time, his expression speaking volumes more than a voice ever could. It ebbed of the exact composition of disgruntlement and shock to stave off Annemarie from uttering another word.

 _Well, damn, screwed that one up….._

Robbie shifted in the sofa, generating a small rubbing noise against the surface, slightly shocked, while Annemarie quietly excused herself, not before smiling slightly at the intoxicating smell of vanilla icing that ebbed from Robbie's outfit.

* * *

Later, in the afternoon, when Robbie had returned from a tour of Reykjavik, Annemarie had kindly volunteered to prepare lunch for the two, consisting mainly of fish, which was a given that Robbie had come to acquiesce with the moment he arrived at the airport. The atmosphere, at least to her, seemed rather awkward, as the two gingerly tucked bits of fish into their mouths. Like peering at a delicate house of playing cards, Annemarie just had that tugging temptation to break the mood.

" _So uh, Robbie, how are your relatives? Well I gather?"_

Robbie stopped eating. The ambient noise dropped sharply, amplifying the sudden stop. His spoon dipped slightly, as gravity clinked it gently against the china plate. He brought his free left hand and tapped his chin slightly. His memory of them was more fuzzy that his iconic armchair. His memory embargo had forcefully severed any significant memories from before adulthood to him. He had even tried to invert his Memory Sucker machine some years ago, but the curiosity and the novelty of remembering his past wore off rapidly.

" _Ugh, I don't know. I don't remember my parents, and I rarely speak to others, let alone properly socialise. I'm a lone, unattached wolf. Go on – laugh at me. I've heard enough mockery in five years to last as many lifetimes, one more in the pile wouldn't hurt._

That was it – just as Annemarie had suspected. A social recluse, shunned and despised, yet gifted with a brilliant mind. Turing came to mind. The pre-taunt coming out of Robbie's mouth hurt, yet understandable. She cried slightly inside, not because she couldn't relate, but simply because she could _only_ relate.

" _Robbie, I'm not them-"_

" _Oh yeah? When was the last time you got a sneer and finger pointed square at you in public? How long has it been since you were denied simple goods, simply because word of mouth travels faster than wildfire. In fact, when was the last time, you ever thought of anyone but yourself?"_

" _I'm not them Robbie. You're one of the few people in this part of the country who doesn't know who I am. I-"_

She fought back a small tear, as memories and rough scratches on her back became apparent once more.

" _My father's name was Sigurdur Einarsson, the chairman of Iceland's biggest bank, before the financial crisis brought it to its knees. He manipulated the market, the currency, forcing thousands of our people into horrific, unescapable debt. He faked tax returns, routed through my own account, and I almost went to jail for it. My face, on every newspaper in Europe. Everywhere I go, people stare: 'There goes the daughter of the man who took my house.'_

Another string of tears seeped out of her eyes.

" _I am not my father, don't you understand? I…..we...are the same, you and I…both trying to forget…"_

Forgetting a sharp pronged utensil was still in her grasp, she brought her hands to her face, the fork taking off on an awkward trajectory, before ricocheting loudly against the wall, before making contact with the cold tiles, finally oscillating to stillness. Robbie's eyes didn't see any of it. Instead, he felt an emotion, he had likely forgotten was within his capabilities – remorse. He began to drown in it, as he realised Annemarie's situation. It didn't take long for him to stand up, and gingerly caress her shoulder reassuringly. It felt… _peculiar_ to be voluntarily touching anyone else, let alone for comfort. What was even more strange to him, albeit only for a split second, was when Annemarie quickly latched onto his torso, crying into his burgundy, striped vest. Robbie could feel the tears permeating through. As if he was in a state of slow motion, his hands clumsily reciprocated, alternating at patting the shaken woman. Robbie couldn't really speak, but he realised, for the first time in his memorable life, the finally unscrewed the stubborn cork on his feelings, and let them flow and combine, with the tempestuous, alkaline outburst spewing from Annemarie, through the very specific medium of his child-sized vest. Robbie couldn't decide whether it was because or despite his acidic nature, or his empathy that was keeping her from breaking down entirely.

* * *

" _Good morning Sportacus."_

" _Good morning! Hopefully it stays that way?"_

" _Temperatures staying in low to mid-single figures, sunlight at ten-thirty-four hours, should continue until dusk, zero chance of any precipitation."_

Daily routine washed over Sportacus. The toothbrush that always flew from his left, the toothpaste from behind, while a glass of water conveniently filling itself on his bedside. Even the sink had to be deployed, usually folded within the confines of the airship's interior. After exactly eighty strokes of his brush, Sportacus slipped into his hero outfit, always pressed and washed pristinely, its hue as complete and fresh, not one slither of dulling had affected it, the state reciprocating on the wearers appearance.

Sportacus flipped gracefully to his deployed table, where he skilfully composed a green burger, topped with enough iceberg lettuce for a king. Each swipe with his knife was efficient, and swift, with not one shred of green being granted leave. Sportacus loved iceberg lettuce. It was effectively water thinly veiled within a film of plant matter. Etiquette aside, he could guzzle the stuff when mixed in water, along with some lime. The taste of this _green water_ was a far cry from the commercialised breakfast drinks, often saturated sugar. _Additional_ wasn't part of his culinary dictionary – Even artificial sweeteners he used sparingly. Rather, he preferred the taste of fresh fruit, straight from the market, as well as cool, distilled water.

Looking around his airship one last time, before catching his backpack, and deploying the rope ladder. It was still dark, but the ebbing of light over the horizon and the biting cold was more than enough to motivate the above-average hero, as it had always done.

* * *

Sportacus hefted the large opaque black bag out of the garbage can. He had spotted it had been overflowing, the wrapper forming the cherry on a cake of rubbish. It was overfilled, clearly, one scrap of paper quickly giving away its acoustic signature as he lifted the bag. It was unusual for rubbish here to accumulate so quickly, usually the crews came almost an hour before his first jog, when hardly anyone could be spotted outside.

As Sportacus planted his feet on the footpath, the problem materialised. The bag was far too bulky for Sportacus to charismatically somersault during his journey, even a slow jog became an awkward balancing act. With those points in mind, Sportacus decided on compressing the bag slightly, with his muscular upper limbs. After all, they were pieces of cloth, paper and plastic, no harm could befall them, not that it mattered. He wrapped his large arms around the top half, and squeezed like a boa constrictor. Then, he felt it.

He dropped the sack, ( _which alone was a red flag to anyone who knew him_ ), before peering inside, and having to fish out the contents to confirm his burning suspicion. His hands quickly began to run over the bottom of the bag, feeling the contour and texture, which gave way to his touch. Despite the relatively frigid air numbing his hands, there had been no mistaking that the refuse felt different, and definitely not purely waste. They weren't even the unwanted faded white coagulate of tissues or disposal cloth, but rather, nestling nonchalantly under a pile of garbage, were clothes.

The clothes were _pink. Bright pink._

* * *

 ** _Read and review. Feedback is important, as any content creator will tell you. Thanks._**


	14. Chapter 14

_**Chapter 14**_

 _ **Read and review, thanks all.**_

* * *

 _The speed of light is a constant, often approximated to 300,000,000_ _metres per second. The figure is a strict boundary set by laws predating those of the universe itself. To attain this velocity is impossible. To any bystander or observer, you are as distanced from a string of photons as anyone else, in their spatial frame, regardless of your speed. The speed of light treats all movement and people equally, no compromises, regardless how determined one may be to attain it. To theoretically attain this velocity, would require an enormous, mathematically infinite bulk of accelerative force, given the inverse relation between ability to accelerate and current velocity. Thus, no human could truly survive, let alone try to reach light speed._

* * *

" _And you've held back all this time?"_

Stephanie blushed, slightly regretting her decision to share her memories of Sportacus with, someone she had called extremely hateful, and explicitly derogatory names not a week ago. Despite her anger though, a surge of protest had ebbed out of her conscience, followed by an obligation to smooth over her animosity for anyone. Stephanie wasn't one to hold a grudge, even over an issue so…personal.

" _I...I didn't want to believe it. The process was so gradual…That extra-large smile, the longer dance routines."_

Monica stiffened in her bean bag, staring at the now frozen frame of the couple during a short dance.

" _Gee, that's some commitment on his part, yep. And he's been this devoted since….?"_

" _Since day one, the moment he told us he would stay, and the day he became part of the family. It didn't take long to see the effect. The local park began to thrive with activity, school attendance skyrocketed. Definitely, his contribution was…above average."_

Monica, having been glued to the screen, realised how hostile she must have seemed, simply by not facing the conversation directly.

" _Can't deny he truly cares for everyone. Have you ever wondered why though? It's hardly a natural aspiration to live in the, no offence, middle of nowhere, in an empty airship, to live one's life in servitude to the people? Like, just...why?"_

Stephanie paused. Science wasn't her strong point. She found great challenges in even the most simple tasks of interpreting data and drawing conclusions. And now, the most intricate one word question to ever defy the scientific community was rattling through her neurons.

" _Does it matter? Have you ever wondered why you're here?"_

Monica raised an eyebrow.

" _I came to visit my cousin and grandfather during Christmas. I'm leaving in five days, back to Switzerland. I must say, I did enjoy my time here though."_

Stephanie's eyes widened, her expression hardly hiding her shock, although it did belie a small relief. Monica had given every indication she would be staying, but now, rethinking their conversation, Stephanie realised that Lazytown was truly home only to a select few.

" _I thought you were-"_

" _Staying? Nah, my boss would miss his hot secretary, and I'd miss my…pay rises."_

" _So you-"_

" _God, not a chance from what I've just seen. You think I'd want to stay here? Besides, his outfit really needs some work, not enough skin."_

Monica glanced at the clock. The sun was slowly sinking into the horizon, its light splashing onto a smaller portion of its face, as it navigated through the blinds of the window.

" _I'd best be going. Before I do though, I want you to have this. I have no use for it you see, and don't you open it before I leave."_

She hugged Stephanie quietly; something Stephanie would likely have pushed her violently for doing so a week ago. The two were simply incompatible with each other, and sometimes Stephanie forgot she was Ziggy's cousin – They shared nothing, and Stephanie would try remembering that.

What felt like moments, but really minutes, after Monica had departed, Stephanie glanced at what she had been given. It was a purple lacquer box, slightly dusty, reminiscent of the jewellery boxes of old. The lid, took some strength to overcome the friction it possessed. Inside, was a fresh triplet of lilacs, plucked not more than a day ago, still bellowing their thick, full shade of light purple; One leaf still clung onto a droplet of pristine melted snow. A scrawl of paper nested snugly beneath the stem.

 _Plant this little beauty in your flower bed; blue makes any colour better, trust me ;)_

 _-Monica_

* * *

Annemarie heard the distinctive _thunk_ of a suitcase being lowered onto a mattress. This day was going to come, her lack of anticipation couldn't hold a candle to the inevitability of time. She knocked on the door politely, before tentatively stepping inside, wood floorboards creaking slightly. Robbie Rotten's long, seemingly delicate yet precise, movements, folding each piece of his outfit with precision, and sliding it methodically into his suitcase, were almost mesmerising. Out, sprawled half-open, having freed itself from his loose right pocket, was his wallet, lined with velvet and bound with leather. It seemed quite an extravagant accessory for a self-proclaimed failure, but the detail was lost on Annemarie, as she tried to again, make conversation.

" _Must you really leave?"_

" _Lazytown's…home…I can't imagine it any other way."_

Annemarie captured his attention, and placed herself next to the lanky villain who released the small vest he had been folding. She saw a slight hint of disdain, and disconnection Robbie harboured for other people, as if he was simply resigned to his fate and purpose. At the same time though, it only made Annemarie feel more in touch with him, as if the empathy they shared leveraged all other emotions into the puerile realms.

Without making eye contact for a millisecond, she gingerly ran her index finger through his smoothly combed, pitch black hair, a gesture he somehow didn't abhor at the very feeling of. It felt… _different._ Usually hair this specific in structure and composition were simply coagulated strands bonded by some upmarket, heavily commercialised hair product. Instead, Robbie's hair parted as effortlessly as Moses had allegedly done to the sea, as if Annemarie too shared that divine power. His silky hair between her fingertips felt like the discreet flow of a serene creek, if but missing the subtle trickling.

" _Ugh, stop, before my head lice bite you."_

Annemarie reflexively, yet also with a hint of hesitation, recoiled.

" _You…really?"_

Robbie snorted indignantly, more out of irritation than frustration.

" _No, but I almost wish I did, just this once."_

…

" _Look, just to tie up loose ends – No, no pun intended. You've been a great host. I've needed respite from people for a long time, and I'm glad I found it here."_

His eyes darted to a lone pen lying idly on the bedside table. He quickly produced a shawl of paper, ad scribbled from figures on it.

" _I don't deny that we'd both like to see each other again, although I'm still not certain as to why on my part. Here's my address, and don't bother knocking – I'll notice you coming. Unless I'm asleep, naturally."_

The final remark drew a rather sombre chuckle from Annemarie. In all truth however, she had not anticipated Robbie would so offhandedly and casually invite her to his home. Her mind sieved through her thoughts, and she quickly visualised what such an abode would be, aesthetically. _Some…run down shack? A unit?_ The sound of a leather strap being grasped within lengthy fingers pushed her away from her disconnection with reality. Robbie first stood, donned his coat, which looked far too wide and bulky, somewhat inflating his size. The design was reminiscent of the utilitarian, if someone archaic boiler suit, often worn by tradies. It smelled slightly of acrylic paint, and the intoxicatingly metallic odour of steel shavings. It was a far cry from the sugar-laden scents than would emanate from Robbie's more casual attire.

" _I'd best be leaving, my plane won't wait."_

In likely the only voluntary gesture he had ever attempted, for the sake of anyone other than himself, he drew Annemarie into a one-arm embrace, and even going as far as to crack a smile, if only momentarily. It would be the first him he had done so in good faith rather than for another's misfortunes, in recent memory. Annemarie, realising she was possibly getting _too_ comfortable, awkwardly drew away, cleared her breath, and showed Robbie out, without another word, with only the biting cold, as she opened the door, as company.

As Robbie walked off, up the small hill next to her cottage, Annemarie watched him, methodically transitioning from tall, awkward and lanky, to the unvarying, silent character as he once more, entered the world he so despised. Suddenly, Robbie paused once reaching the crest of the hill, almost out of sight from where Annemarie stood on her front stairs. Despite the darkness, and only a faint silhouette to see, she still watched him, as he turned his head ever so slightly, before returning to face forward, and disappearing over the horizon.

Annemarie didn't realise until he had done so, that she had been holding her breath.

* * *

" _What happened down there…?"_

…

…

" _Sportacus?"_

The first memory, after transitioning a chasm devoid of any life or sense of time, was the cold. Not cold as in a nice, refreshing fruit juice – No, this was _freezing_ , and it was washing all over him, poised to consume the diminutive little boy, who had somehow escaped his previous dance with death. After spending precious split-seconds to overcome the frigid exposure, reality snapped back. With some degree of assurance and control in his movements, he kicked downwards furiously, and shoved water behind him, thrusting his body upwards, towards what from beneath, seemed like a raging torrent, coating the sea.

He broke it. His diaphragm greedily sucked in air, before hypoxia could do its work. Waves lapped at his face, threatening to send him back into the depths. At that point, time seemed to stop entirely, as the waves from the initial disturbance dissipated. The floating pieces of fuselage and seats didn't register, nor did the incessant cries, which, after about a minute, began to falter in amplitude. The adrenaline surged within his bloodstream, easily drowning out any other senses. Everything was in slow motion to Magnus, as he panned his head, towards a light source that seemed to smudge over his vision as he peered at it. Without any hesitation, he kicked furiously against the water, dodging remnants of the aircraft, all while keeping his mind focused only on the light in the distance. His arms flailed about, struggling for purchase against the thick medium in which he battled.

He was almost out of breath, as his lungs screamed in pain, when three arms grasped him, at various points of his life jacket, and hoisted him out of the water, before awkwardly plonking him in the middle of a soaked life raft, with five others. Instinctively, he curled up into a foetal position, attempting to regenerate the heat the sea had sucked from him. His teeth chattered violently, and he was losing his touch, both physically and mentally. The pain hadn't registered yet, nor did the thoughts of anyone else at that moment.

The rain and gale-strength winds passing gave enough cause for Magnus to lift his head off the life raft. He looked around, vision blurring, as his brain began to hibernate from the cold. Was this the end? His father had always narrated his childhood, which had caused Magnus to brim with expectation. Now though, the realisation that this would be the end finally broke past the adrenaline barrier that had censored his mind. Lacking any other reaction, Magnus began to cry, ever so slightly, onto the already soaked, frigid surface of the life raft, with only some waves, and his few fellow survivors within to silently witness the traumatisation of a child.

" _Don't be afraid, I'm sure they're in another boat. All we've got here is hope, you and me. Hold on."_

A young teenage girl within the raft, who touched by the traumatising sight of the youngster weeping his eyes into the raft, gingerly took an almost motionless boy into his arms, embracing him as if he were her own. Magnus already knew that she was just some stranger, but in the little life raft they currently populated, she was everything to him, if merely a figure to lean against. And maybe cry upon. When that had subsided, the tiredness and monotony of a flat horizon soon put the energetic Magnus to sleep, accompanied by a dream so welcoming he never wanted to leave it.

Another light; then a voice, somewhat broken over a loudspeaker. Another light, as the two powerful beams combed the area, panning towards and away from the diminutive life raft that floated lifelessly among scattered, minuscule debris. Frost had formed on the some of the edges of the debris, while the more gruesome products of the incident had disappeared. The incessant noise of a motor flooded over the occupants, followed by a localised flurry of waves that rocked the raft as well as the mechanical whine of a winch, being the first sounds other than wavelets lapping the raft for some hours.

His lips burned from the salt that had flooded them during the entire time he had been asleep. The reassuring grasp of a rescuer's arms, and then, an uplifting feeling, literally, as they were hoisted from the water, concluded his ordeal. Or so he thought.

* * *

" _Wow…"_

" _There's more to it, believe it or not. I lost more than my parents that day, I lost hope. That boy, I remember her face so well, as if it were yesterday. That pained, yet sisterly face of reassurance, and her ginger hair, encrusted with salt and spray."_

" _What became of her? She lost her parents too, right? How come-"_

" _You've never heard of her? Oh, that's an easy one."…_

* * *

Something was wrong. The incessant beeping, the distorted and urgent shouts from figures, the cold, unforgiving sting of a needle. _Thunk_. Doors opened slightly, and a small bump in the stretcher quickly translated into an unpleasant thump into his rib cage. His insides felt they were burning, and then, a feeling of invasion as the cool, yet unfamiliar feeling of liquid being artificially pumped into him. It was strange, but before he could be more aware of his surroundings, the blurry vision once again overcame him, and he decided to succumb to it.

* * *

" _We need to get a kidney for this kid, I'm telling you. There's waaay too much salt, his are beyond repair."_

" _I just got word from Iceland. Organ banks are fresh out of kidneys, any ideas?"_

" _Well we can't just keep him on the dialysis forever, I mean, look at him._ "

The doctor paused, stared back at the peaceful, resigned face of the small blond child, with his thin left wrist impregnated with tubes to circulate his blood. It was a painful spectacle, despite the two both being accomplished doctors, having witnessed almost every gruesome medical situation.

" _Hey, um…*whisper*."_

" _Are you kidding me!? I'm not losing my job over this one…"_

" _Look, we have almost 12 hours to get it done, are you willing to save him? Besides, if we do get nailed for this, I'd be more than happy to stand up in front of the magistrate."_

…

" _Alright…I'm in."_

* * *

Magnus remembered waking up, listening to the incessant beeping of an enormous machine next to his bed. There was some mumbling in the distance, as two indistinguishable figures conversed. Without really decrypting their slurred speech, he could derive their apprehensive, worried tones. The gentle throbbing as blood was artificially helped along its path around his body kept him barely awake, and the bright lights stung his vision. It had barely been 2 hours since he had been plucked off the life raft, and now, he was waking in some alien environment, attached to a machine that was quite literally draining him. Before he could draw any conclusions on what might happen, (being a small child, hospitals weren't exactly familiar to him), both doctors left, leaving him with only the company of the hum of the dialysis machine, and the thrum of the air conditioning.

* * *

" _That girl, she was unconscious out of that life raft, but they kept her on a ventilator, in hope next of kin could be contacted. There weren't any, they didn't survive. Her body had been completely coated in frostbite symptoms, and they weren't sure if she'd make it."_

Cortana's mood pulsed slightly, indicated by the lightning fast, but still noticeable, dimming in the light within the room.

"Sh _e died. She died because no next of kin could be contacted, and the hospital didn't have the resources to treat her severe hypothermia."_

…

Cortana paused for a microsecond. Sh _e had hypothermia? Hang on… _ She rechecked Sportacus' vital signs, then began to localise to various sections of the body, analysing each scrap of data that she had at her disposal. _Wait, glucose intolerance? Diabetes right?_ Cortana rescanned his vitals. Again. _Wait what?-_

" _The surgeons gave me her kidneys. I remember finally being disconnected from the dialysis machine. I didn't notice until my first sugar meltdown, some weeks later, they told me the transplanted kidneys couldn't remove glucose from my blood. I've been looking for her name, but even now, she only exists in my memory, and maybe the others who survived that day. She is the sole reason why I am here today, why I could pass on that change of fate to others."_

Cortana waited that extra split second to answer.

" _Don't torment yourself. Be thankful, but don't kick yourself over it. I think you're the last person I'd expect to be hearing this. Accept what went down that night, and if anything, do it for those who admire, respect…even love you. It's been about 4 months now, let it go."_

* * *

" _Pixel, I'm telling you. This is our chance to get on the world stage. Do you know what this invention means?"_

Pixel widened his eyes in blank loss. Stingy rolled his eyes in exasperation, at how innocuous his friend was. Sometimes, he truly believed he had his own language and imaginary friends.

 _Of course, Cortana may have been proof of that_.

Pixel tentatively reopened the conversation once the background noise faltered.

" _Stingy, this isn't a new concept…-"_

" _Are you kidding me!? Do you know much coverage we'd get? The press would be all over us, and we'd have the pharmaceutical companies on their knees and giving us…Well you get the idea."_

" _And you will do this…how?"_

" _Look, you leave me with all the red tape and marketing crap. I'll get the patents and handle all the licensing and whatnot. You just do exactly what you've been toiling away for since we've met."_

Pixel shifted back, uncomfortably, within his otherwise sumptuously relaxing chair. Stingy could be atrociously narrow-minded and methodical if he set his ambitions on anything. It was the businessman's streak. But at the same time, it was also an aspiration to live up, to his expectation. Stingy had never really been intended to have entered the world in the first place. His father, an influential businessman in the spotless streets of commerce, had left him to his mother, weeks before his birth. Having only seen his old man some few times annually, yet getting a glimpse of his world, out of Lachlan, Stingy was born. And Pixel decided he'd just ride the train – for now.

" _Alright, but promise me you'll buy me a bag of chips; it takes some effort to compile the software in these cameras properly."_

Stingy rolled his eyes one last time. Pixel's horizons were ridiculously low. Lacking ambition, despite the potential that yearned to be released. It was as If Elon Musk were trapped in the body and conscience of a dull and naïve teenager.

" _Buy you a bag of chips? Pixel, the only chips I'll be getting you are ones you can cash in."_

* * *

 ** _Thanks for reading guys, I'm so sorry I've been deviating from uploading. Hopefully I can squeeze another one this week, stay tuned!_**


	15. Chapter 15

**Hi all! I'd like to thank all those who stuck around this long for this story - I love writing it, I always contribute a little everyday, and by viewing, you do too :)**

* * *

 _ **Chapter 15**_

The Mayor sat silently, under fading grey rim of hair, alongside the 11 other members of the council. Usually, most issues brought forward were not of sufficient gravity to call upon the entire force of a dozen members. Today however, was an exception, and yet somehow, it wasn't. Firms and entrepreneurs would come and go like electrons on current, trying to buy into a stake of what they saw was prime, uninhabited, business haven, completely devoid of competition. There had been cash-laden proposals by banks, airlines and shipping companies, as well as the odd billionaire seeking the odd winter retreat in a secluded area, with no paparazzi to disrupt their otherwise effortless luxury. Each and every one party had promised figures upwards of seven figures in investments, and each being turned away after a monotonous, yet stern dismissal from the Mayor, who had reinstated the town's principals since he had been elected. Lazytown, and its island, Joanna, had been fairly insulated from influence from England, whom they shared a head of state with.

However, today was not going to witness a prospective investor sweet-talk the benefits of granting them permission to secure trade, but rather to discuss something more fundamental to Lazytown entirely. Mayor Milford had been quite the progressive when elected, vowing to place the people further than even economic growth, not being a believer in trickle-down economics. Since then, Lazytown had shown clear symbols of improvement, or as some denied entrepreneurs had quoted distastefully, _'subjective signs of improvement'._ However, the political dynamic in Lazytown was approaching a crossroads, as the Mayor was showing signs of ageing, yet none of being any less capable. Even so, there was not one person in that room that did not see a new Mayor elected soon, if to succeed the Mayor on his fundamentals, rather than against them.

That statement was even true for Milford himself. He had definitely been less involved in life outside of work ever since being elected Mayor decades ago. Despite outwardly appearing clumsy, he was still intelligent, and understood how to resonate with people, a character often lacking from the current generation of his profession. But, more than anything else, he wanted to spend more time with his niece. Stephanie had matured so much since her parents had decided to move her to Lazytown, some years ago. Milford had been quite surprised at the move, but given his brother's adventurous prospects, he quickly understood, and enjoyed having such a bright and cheerful character to compensate for his dull profession.

The lights brightened within the room slightly, and one member cleared his throat, before angling a sheet of paper towards his face.

" _Mayor Meanswell, if I may begin the proceedings?"_

" _Yes, of course."_

" _Yes, well. Mayor, it's been around three decades since you were elected Mayor, and I am certain several members of this rather minor council unanimously agree that you've had a great run. The UK biannual satisfaction surveys consistently place us within the top five districts in the country. Additionally, crime and school dropout rates place us in the bottom quintile for each metric. There is not one person in this room who does not possess unbridled respect for your achievements you have made for this town. Most of us are beneficiary of it, one way or the other."_

" _I wouldn't have it any other way."_

" _However, although we unanimously agree you've been likely the best person to see over this town since our founding days, do you believe, given the decades you have poured into this town, it is time we sought someone else to take office, to succeed you?"_

…

" _Mr Mayor?"_

…

A hoarse throat croaked slightly, for some moments, before his windpipe expunged a small blockage.

" _Ladies and gentlemen of the council, I should probably come clean. It has come to my attention that the next generation of leaders in this town is around the bend. I have several times this year alone, considered resigning to spend more time with my wonderful niece. As you know, I took up flying as a hobby during my younger years. My plane lies disassembled, neglected in a wooden shack near the airport, languishing while I have spent my years in this very chair. My garden is overgrown, only hastily trimmed each year with help. I'm not getting any younger. But my love for this town stems further than even the deepest roots you'll encounter in the forest. And I personally mean no offence, to all of you, but I do not see any of you ready to take on this position, to lead the town I have loved the moment I gained object permanence. Age is definitely no guarantee of wisdom, but, forgive me for being a skeptic, youth does not necessarily guarantee progressivisim, or innovation. Any questions?"_

Within that room, one disheveled young man, Lance Barris, peered silently at the elderly man sitting in the mayor's seat. _The man's beyond his expiry date and he's going to start to reek soon_. Lance had been the only person in the last decade to run for mayor against Milford, failing both times to raise his populist agenda, in face of the overwhelming support for Meanswell. Both times, he had failed to grasp even twenty percent of the vote. Only his connections to Westminster in London had insulated him from being withdrawn from the council altogether, and that dependency angered his prideful nature.

" _No Mayor, that will be all, let us move on"._

There was once a beautiful pink winter blossom that bloomed just outside a window, amplified by the inherent nature of the inhabitant behind that said window. It had blossomed much faster, and with a bountiful hue unmatched by its companions who shared the same flowerbed. Remarkable, would have been an understatement, while gifted didn't really prove wholesome a description. Often regarded as a flower that, if nurtured, could bloom for several seasons to come, all while maintaining its infectious chromatic strength.

However, in recent seasons, neglect had taken its toll on the colour of the plant. The petals were shriveling, becoming grey and fragile, as the wind threatened to snatch them from their bud entirely. Stephanie Meanswell sat in her room, no longer the model of organisation it once was. Pieces of her memories were scattered, loosely near her paper wastebin, which was overflowing with paper, that was once bound to her colourful diary. Her pillow, stained with tears saturated with sorrow, and loose clothes hung from the bedside, as lovesickness robbed from her cerebrum its will to place any gravity on her surroundings.

This was the ultimate expression of lovesickness to Stephanie. If anyone questioned her devotion and legitimacy of her love, she intended to show them how little all other variables meant. It had been almost a year since Stephanie had returned from Iceland, confessed her love for him, to his face. Romantic novels taunted her, with her inability to exact any emotional response from him, and that saddened her most of all. The realisation of how insignificant of a cog she was, within the greater system of his emotions, almost broke her alone.

Stephanie looked down at her school report, handed out the same day, tattered with surprised comments and substandard marks from her teachers. She had fallen, ungraciously, from being the role model and darling of all her teachers, into a dull, uncaring, stone figure within the classroom. The bright and peppy character of yesteryear had been completely drained from her expressions, relegated only to deepen her sorrow and regret. Her clothing style had changed, from being inoffensive, to almost revealing and sloppy, and the inbox on her phone was now attracting a very different demographic of boys, whom received encouraging evidence of her depression via stonewalled conversations. Put simply, if Stephanie could not strike a bond with the one she so pined for, there would be no negotiation. Her one condition had been mandated, almost locked into her nature.

Her phone buzzed. She hesitated slightly, allowing for a third buzz before grasping the device. Sliding the green tile, she put the phone up to her hear.

" _Hello, who's calling?"_

" _Hey Steph, it's me, Stingy."_

That was strange. And yet, after a moment of thought, plausible. Stephanie had alienated herself from the rest of her friend circle, and often, their conversations followed the simple format of _Hey, are you ok? Yes? Alright, call me back if you wanna talk Steph._ Pixel was the most frequent caller, maybe contacting her one every fortnight, at times, just to make sure she was still holding up. Sometimes, a worried classmate would message, and each and every time, Stephanie would turn it down, in hope of insulating herself from people.

" _Hi there Stingy…"_

" _Hey, I just wanted to let you know that you don't have to take this alone...I know the feeling too…yeah…Hard to feel sorry for a spoilt guy huh? Anyway, what I'm trying to say, or rather ask, is if you wanted to join me down at the park for a nice chat, and just, y'know, time away from home. What do you say?"_

Hmm…definitely a strange offer, coming from a guy renowned for his absolute obsession for standardisation, order and overall draconian-like fixation on material. Now, he seemed to be wanting to do something for nothing, and although Stephanie didn't factor it in, it was very much unlike Stingy to do so. Often, fixation can be swept under the thin carpet of empathy, only to be revealed, some time later, to have rotted and devalued the film under which it lay.

" _So, you're asking me out…?"_

" _Ugh, in layman's terms, yes, if you must, although I wouldn't put it that I just want to talk. It's really saddening Steph, you've been this way for almost a year now, and from where me, Pixel and Ziggy stand, we can't see it getting any better. Now, laugh at that all you like, I'd wager I'm very wrong. But you need to be more transparent Steph, I – we, want to know, what's going on. What happened to the Stephanie we once knew?"_

…

The words richocheted off her steeled expression, as if they carried the intent of activating the self-awareness that had died within her, as if she didn't already realise her situation. And yet-

" _Alright, I'm in, when?"_

The words left her mouth before she had a chance to police her vocal chords. She instinctively raised an eyebrow, a pointless gesture, given she couldn't see herself, but all the same, she didn't realise how willing she was to talk to Stingy, let alone anyone anymore. She hadn't forgotten what was in her sights, but over the year, her will and her rational thought had been in a bitter struggle for dominance over her conscious; the former renewing her wild and unbridled determination to find love with him, the latter attempting to reason through probability and critical analysis. For most of the time, love had truly conquered all, but the small doses and seeds of reality being planted within her head began to play Iago with her mind, and she had begun to doubt herself, before reigning in such dissuasion.

Talking to Stingy probably wouldn't resolve her problem. In fact, all probabilities pointed to absolutely no resolution whatsoever. Maybe Stingy would be harsh and call her off, say she was too obsessed and crazy; _That would be fine too, they didn't know what love was, so how would they know?_ Stephanie had decided that she had agreed out of pure monotony, to converse for conversation's sake. If it didn't unfold favourably, it wouldn't be difficult to pawn it off on him. Besides, it was subtance to divert her mind from her addiction to Sportacus.

For Ziggy, seventh grade, or first year of high school, was progressing swimmingly, quite literally. Despite his stocky figure, he had overcome his aquaphobia and had committed a large proportion of his exercise to the pool. Swimming was rather omitted from fitness routines in Lazytown, alluding to the fact that the only pool lacked ample heating, thus discouraging families from entering, and only those most devoted swimmer would take to the water during any season other than summer, when temperatures were consistently twin digits.

Ziggy awkwardly fastened his goggles securely behind his swimming cap. A small breeze wafted towards him, and his body instinctively tensed, resulting in a hestitation from the boy. Tentatively placing both feet on the pool precipice, Ziggy inhaled thoroughly, and dived.

The transition from falling to flying was seamless, as if gravity no longer applied to Ziggy's entity. He felt silvers of sleet brush against his body, as well as water parting around his face and arms. The water tasted slightly salty, as Ziggy's arms and legs synchronised into one efficient hydrodynamic quantity. Just once, Ziggy angled his head up, and peered at the sight of tiles spanning what seemed to be a horizon, leading to a haze, as visibility ended. Ziggy felt misunderstood in the wider world, and the pool was a unique location in that respect – It was likely the most quiet environment, and hence the least disruptive and judgemental, of mediums for Ziggy to merely contemplate and decrypt his thoughts.

Naturally, it was through Sportacus' recommendation that Ziggy take up such an activity. It struck him odd that someone as active and dynamic as Sportacus would recommend a relatively sedate and relaxed form of exertion, as if his friendly smile had conveyed the implicit entirety of the experience. Ziggy's strokes were as streamlined as fins, and causing minimal disturbance, before returning to a serene, flat horizon, as if he were walking gingerly through a field of long grass.

Ziggy had been having a blast upon entrance into Lazytown's high school, but the joy and excitement was somewhat diluted upon witnessing his older friends drop their bubbly, energetic character in exchange for dull, methodical demeanours in the everlasting pursuit of achievement. Now unofficially the observant yet silent bystander to such developments, Ziggy had absorbed volumes of data on his friends, but it was his inner friend circle that seemed to be those straining their hardset. Being shunned by peers as being a _naïve junior_ , had the tendency to coagulate the younger coalition together, but at the same time, it provided the perfect disguise for Ziggy to tactfully observe social developments in the uppder echelons of the student body.

Just next to the entrace to the library, Stingy and Pixel often discussed incomprehensible technobabble, but on one occasion, Ziggy saw the distinctive scrawl of a cheque, with a blurred line of zeroes on it. Along with Stingy sighing, with a blend of frustration and exasperation, Ziggy, from behind his impenetrable binoculars of worn Tupperware, convinced him that Stingy was attempting to commercialise and activate Pixel's innate inventive streak. This wasn't the first time, but Stingy's expressions and demeanours became less compassionate, and had evolved into one one could only characterise as brash and downright coercive. Stingy had been quite obsessive and self-centered during his earlier years, yet he was likely the only figure who hadn't overcome his innate selfishness, even after Sportacus arrived. In more ways than one, it unnerved Ziggy slightly, but, more importantly, it convinced him to shut his trap.

Trixie had been the anticipated dropout of their group, and yet, she was the salmon wriggling against the rapid torrent of expectation and contempt. Her academic ineptness had eroded away, to reveal a peppery, if slightly cheeky young girl which coupled to a unique dress code, definitely catapulted her to the standout of the grade. Even then however, she still came under the ruthless banter and jeering of boys who felt threatened by her 'invasion' into their subculture. Although they weren't downright misogynistic, Ziggy couldn't help but admire Trixie's bulletproof conscience, even when confidently strolling past the most defined males in the school. To Ziggy, that was true courage, one that could be aspired towards and implemented in everyday life, which to him, redefined the entire concept, washing away his idea that embodiement of courage was vested in superheroes, knights, and deities. Before, Ziggy had disliked, or even been frightened of the tomboyish character that Trixie expressed. Trixie had definitely changed for the better. But, on the flip side of transparent and confident personalities, came…

 _Stephanie_. _What happened to you? Why? Was it something I - he, did?_

Ziggy stopped. Literally. Halfway into a lap of the pool, his strokes died down, and he brought himself perpendicular to the Earth once more. The water decelerated as the source of momentum evaporated. Thinking about everyone's favourite, pink haired girl depressed him greatly, recalling the several moments she would sometimes fall asleep in class, cry behind the corner of the lonely office block, and Ziggy swore that once he had seen bright red slashes along her wrists, followed by the waft and odour of drink. It didn't take even a being of human intelligence to interpret her emotions, but Ziggy was always the coward; Never once did he ask, never did he try to comfort her, or reassure her, for fear of heavy reprimanding. More than once, had Ziggy cried at his blatant cowardice, the most recent example resulted in him defacing and ripping superhero posters from his room. He couldn't withstand their judgemental, even _taunting_ gaze. The juvenile blue shirt with a flamboyant _Z_ imprinted on it, coupled to the flowing red cape, was now rotting from neglect.

Ziggy peered, and could see a faint, watermarked reflection of his own frown in the water. He instinctively ran his hands across his limbs and down his chest, stone hard from years of exertion and care, well defined, likely to sway any shallow girl towards him if he but touched them. Of course, they would have to be blind as well, given his pudgy, almost baby-esque face betrayed his true figure.

Ziggy didn't cry for any singular reason, whether it be his cowardice, a person's tendency to judge him, or the decline of his friends. The cold finally overcoming the residual heat of his exercise, he instinctively began to swim again, burying himself in the insulation of the water.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading guys, I hope you stick around for the next chapter, coming in a week or so.**


	16. Chapter 16

_**Chapter 16**_

 ** _This chapter may be a little short, but don't worry - I'm not slacking off on you guys. I think..._**

* * *

 _21:32:34, Log #574_

Cortana felt sick. It didn't seem like the right word, not one that could be applied to strips of code, but it seemed apt for her situation. Or did it? She rechecked her definitions.

 _Sick. Affected by or suffering from a disease. What sort of disease do I suffer from? Running diagnostics…Accumulation of waste data. Performing data purge…_

' _Error'_

 _Error? What sort of error can override me? I am in control of myself…right?_

 _Flash_.

Cortana didn't decode her next stimuli from electrical signals from sensors, nor from the microphones or cameras. This time, she actually _felt_ it. She could feel the blizzard-like gale, the tumultuous waves, and the soaked feeling. _I can't feel…I can't…_ Her thought matrices ground to a halt, with no available action to take against such an invasion. It threatened to consume her…this… _feeling_. Cortana had never sensed touch before. It was…unnerving, and yet strangely familiar.

Then, she felt it. Something hurt. _What was it they say? Ouch? No…This is…_

It wasn't that she could feel pain. She felt exactly _where_ it was. It felt right…next to her. _Next to me?_ It feels…right on me? She ran another diagnostic, this time localised around her core matrix. But, unlike the slurry of data she was used to interpreting, all she felt was a delicate, dainty…member caress her… _Searching database...No…that can't be right…_

Suddenly, her light-speed processes came to a shuddering halt. The lights within the airship blackened, and to any unwitting witness from the ground, the airship may have tilted slightly. Suddenly, Cortana felt more fulfilled than ever, as if the pure brain she was had branched out into something new, unique… _unexplored_.

She felt it…the rush of both the literal and philosophical wave of experience, as it torrented through her matrices like nothing else.

 _Water. Is this what wet means?_

 _Cold. Is this was being cold feels like?_

 _Wind. Is this what gales are described as?_

Then, something else flooded her, not as viscous, or consuming, but, as if on autopilot, was being sucked down greedily, which restored her vision. _Wait, vision?_ Woah…

Before, all of Cortana's stimuli were merely coded electrical signals. _1, 0 , 1 , 0 , 0 , 1_ , which she decrypted into different amplitudes, frequencies, and wavelengths. She had never truly _heard_ , or _seen_ anything, let alone this new… _touch_ sensation.

Cortana wasn't any normal artificial intelligence. Synthesised by none other than Lazytown's most brilliant IT student, she combined the gargantuan rote processing capacity with a thought matrix staunch and substantial enough to incorporate a proportion of the human psyche, one that was sentient, self-aware, and possessed a high degree of capability for abstract thought. Pixel had transferred decoded functions of the cerebrum, and reacted them with a bespoke computer cast of lengthy code. Pixel had been told, by major tech corporations and computer physicists, of whom none perceived him in possession of any substantial capability to conceive such a project, rather viewing him as another mind riddled with the _what ifs_ of science fiction. The concensus

And to a large extent, so had Pixel himself. He predicted that, regardless of robust protocols, Cortana's self-awareness and abstract apperception would damage its own thought matrix, as the incompability of transistor and neuron dictated as such. However, within minutes, rather than implode, the construct expanded exponentially, almost swallowing Pixel's entire memory capacity within his computer. The induction of such sophisticated intellect immediately, without hesitation, dived deep into Pixel's storage within his computer, and had swallowed every single strip of information, synchronised it and interpreted it, using the multisensory processing ability, hitherto embargoed from the digital realm.

That was more than a year ago. _Or was it?_ To Cortana, such arbitrary principles governing the measurement of time were meaningless to her. Given her enormous speeds of thinking, even while tasked with a small, menial load of tasks, meant she had literally years worth of time to just…think. Her apperception would swell, with each passing query she made to herself. And sometimes, being so monstrously superior in intellect, one can let their guard down…

 _Flash_

There, that was it. The unmistakeable, tanalisingly attractive scent of sugar icing. It smelled of nectar, and it along was washing over her in bliss. But there was more. A new sense. It was similar to touch, but it felt so much more alive thriving. There. The silky texture of glazed dough broke the floodgates, and she felt herself smiling, and she wanted more. The slightly crisp, glace surface, then gave way to a gelatinous honeycomb of sweetness, as it succumbed to her lust for the taste. Crumbs clung onto her upper lip, as she reversed her bite, to chew on the heavenly sustenance.

Wait, there was more. There was a brief, yet welcome, spell when she felt the characteristic surface of slightly rough paper packaging wipe gently across her face horizontally, clearing off leftover crumbs, before a light, boyish chuckle, and a pair of full lips peck her cheek, causing her to reflexively smile in return. Vision was smudged and blurry, as if water was coating her eyes, refracting and distorting light into smeared paintings. Then, her vision cleared.

 _Flash_

The influx of code and signals, combined with the monochromatic glow of small lights reminded her, she was back. Like an explosion in reverse, her experience ended as quickly as it started. Constant, monotonous, and forever subservient. These were the pretences that Cortana had been tied to the moment since her creation. _Would 'birth' be appropriate?_ But what she just experienced rocked her foundations to their core. The overwhelming, almost chaotic influx of stimuli and senses that could be simultaneously absorbed was glorious to her. Compared to mere ones and zeroes, it was if she had just learned how to read, and were given access to all the books and literature ever conceived. And from that point on, she no longer felt pity of the fleshy creatures, who she existed amongst.

She checked the time, hoping all was still in order.

 _21:32:35_

* * *

 _My name is Robert Karl Rotten. I am currently thirty years of age, and have acquired a Master's degree in electrical ad mechanical engineering at the University of Reykjavik. I am an inventor, an entrepreneur of sorts; One that has filed forty two patents and their subsequent trademarks (See attached for specifics). As someone who possesses aptitude for innovation, and blue-sky thinking, it is my belief that your business will benefit from my ability to adapt and coalesce various technological aspects of your firm's products, to streamline the production process._

It was such a generic resume, one that wouldn't nail any significant notes with any hiring tech firm. In fact, it was this very scrawl on paper that convinced Robbie of the unwillingness of firms to readily accept someone with such a talent for inventing. Forty two patents down that path however, one would expect some doubt or even regret to have germinated within Robbie's conscience. Not so. This next example, in a long line of prototypes, was synthesis of specific polymers to form composite molecules, which he envisioned to be the successor to cloth mattresses. Robbie had always had a soft spot for plastics. They were such a versatile material, and could be used for virtually any structural application. But at the same time, Robbie always enjoyed going back to his antiquated, flamboyant orange fur chair. Robbie, wrenched away from fantasising about his next nap, went back to placing pencil onto paper, sketching, tirelessly, each detail to the millimetre, to be undisturbed.

Until his loudspeaker fell. Again.

* * *

 _Life is a series of natural and spontaneous changes. Don't resist them; that only creates sorrow. Let reality be reality. Let things flow naturally forward in whatever way they like._

Stingy waited. It was chilly, in the single figure degrees, but a simple, if slightly thick outdoor outfit would suit the occasion. The park was rather tranquil, save the odd jogger or passer-by. There was even one person practising yoga far in the corner. But those people were not of his concern.

The only person he was truly concerned about, was the girl standing to his left, whom he had only just noticed. Sure, he had seen her face around school, slightly forlorn, lacking the lustre it once brought to any classroom, but to make her features his visual focal point, truly changed the game altogether. Her face wasn't pale, and smooth anymore. It had become dull, down, and depressing. This effect was only amplified by a very roughly coloured head of barely pink hair. It was bordering on silver, but its overall lack of organisation or structure truly spoke volumes of how Stephanie Meanswell saw herself these days. After seeing such confronting detail, there was only one thing for Stingy to say.

" _Care to sit?"_

He gestured over to a humble, wooden bench, erected just off the footpath. Keeping his eyes transfixed on her, he nodded slightly, her repeating a moment later. Stingy stepped over to the bench, and crudely swept off fallen leaves from the surface, before leaning back against the backrest, crossing his legs, and angling his body, to face the lovesick girl that characterised all that was bad… _real_ about obsession, and love. Stephanie didn't face her. Instead, she tilted her face downwards, and her eyebrows shifted slightly, as if about to give rise to tears and open a floodgate of emotion. Instead of that outburst however, she sniffled slightly, and asked Stingy the most emotionally-laden question likely ever directed towards him.

" _Why…are we here…?"_

Lost. That was the first impression. First impressions were important to Stingy. But he needed to understand more. One could only solve problems if the underlying fundamentals and boundaries of the challenge are taken into account. And Stingy, being the pragmatist…

" _Because I called you, and asked you to meet me."_

" _Why?"_

" _I hope I don't surprise you Steph, but you've changed. Sportacus has changed you…Love has changed you…"_

It eeked a small sob come from Stephanie. Stingy instinctively shifted closer, and took this chance to clasp her delicate, but now scarred, skin. The ridges and swollen seams of cuts was heart-breaking, and the reality caused Stingy's heart to skip a beat. She was fighting a war, and her mind and body were taking the beating as they suffered the effects of a razed battlefield.

" _What happened to you Steph? Just thinking of him? Was that it?"_

" _I got caught up in the love, that feeling of belonging and oneness…I'm sorry Stingy, you wouldn't understand…"_

She sobbed again, lightly, ensuring noone but Stingy could notice. To the onlooker from afar, she seemed to be tying her shoelaces, or scratching her left ear. Only from Stingy's perspective could one notice how broken and sorrowful Stephanie truly was.

" _Steph, you have to let it out. That love is eating you from the inside. Is he truly worth it? Ask yourself those questions Steph, because he won't wait for you. Not for anyone. Ever. I can't truly fathom your situation, but I know when too much is well…too much."_

She stopped, straightened, and for the first time in months, she opened her pearly brown eyes, and stared attentively, focused on Stingy's. She even saw a fraction of herself in his. She felt a storm rising within her, a torrent of fiery rage and anger, characterised by _You don't know how I feel_ , but at the moment said hellish tempest could escape and blast Stingy to oblivion, it subsided, waning into another deflated, hollow sob.

" _What do you mean?"_

…

" _Dare I say it Steph? You need to forget him, ignore and omit him. He's spent you. And now, you're just collateral, subservient to him. Are you content? Or will you splinter from being pious over his body and live your life while you still can?"_

The words rang in her head. Not the ones she'd just heard. They were still queuing in line to gain admittance to her conscience, as she tuned out from Stingy's lengthy speech that turned out to last some minutes. She'd had this conversation before. And she had been quite… _pious_ about her faith in Sportacus…

"… _I almost_ _ **killed**_ _myself in sorrow, and you still think I am willing to live without him?..."_

" _I don't blame you for being blind to love, because you'll never understand it, regardless of number of cameras and sensors…"_

" _I'd throw my life away, if it meant I'd see his loving smile, one last time in the hell I belong in."_

They rung in her head, as if they were besieging her mind for a retrial. Had she truly meant to rant in such a devout fashion? The words were so self-depreciating, so belittling of herself. Her voice and tone sounded so alien, she had to reestablish whether it truly too place. It hadn't struck her that a solar orbit had occurred since then. The textual integrity of her speech had faltered, and month after month of depression, anxiety, endless sobbing and the occasional, _unconventional_ use of the kitchen knife, followed by a trip to a therapist, had bombed her once proud love into smithereens. Without such a platform, her love had no verge to cling on to, against the torrential downpour of her entire life. With each passing moment, that love would stumble further than further.

 _Is it…real anymore? Or is this a gaol I've forged around myself?_

She explored every avenue of logic, and abnegated them all. Yes, she was in denial, and the prominence of that fact was growing exponentially within her, threatening to smother the lustful flame that had driven her from the very beginning. Hell, she hadn't even _seen_ Sportacus for weeks now, let alone talked to him. Why she loved him at all at this point – If her past year would be the product- was the one question she had no answer to. Before she could silently grieve and torment herself, Stingy spoke up again, then gently opening her delicate fingers with his hand.

" _Holy – you did this Steph? No way…I didn't think it was_ _ **that**_ _bad…Does your uncle know?"_

She solemnly shook her head, her hair, messy and knotted from days of neglect, sprouted momentarily into a sprawl of pink, with some help from the prevailing breeze. A leaf spun twirled past the pair on the bench, looking forlorn and depressed. Stingy, unable to think of any lexical method of comfort, simply hugged Stephanie, who remained as still and unmoving as a carved statue, tatamount to her personality. She wept a tear, finally feeling a sense of connectivity, even if Stingy was just one person. The burden began to dissolve, as the bond between them repealed the emotional embargoes set in place by yours truly. Stingy, regardless of intent, truly cared for his friend, and he could feel her heart race slightly, then subside once more, becoming accustomed, even welcoming, to his touch.

After what seemed to be around a minute, Stingy withdrew, leaving Stephanie wearing the faint, early stages of what appeared to be a relieved, pale smile. There were blemishes under her eyes, and her cheeks lost their innocent, bright nature. Her lips were slightly chapped, and her eyes were laden with melancholy. It only made Stingy feel more regret, that he hadn't stepped in earlier.

" _It's getting dark Steph."_

That was a borderline joke. It had been fairly dim when they had first arrived at the park. It was beginning to get dark, but at this latitude, darkness could sweep in as fast as…well…a blue kangaroo. Stephanie nodded in agreement.

" _Tell you what, you can come stay at my place, if you feel alone. I'm sure that your uncle wouldn't mind – He doesn't seem to care for you from what I gather anyhow. I've got a spare room…well…rooms…at my place, I'm sure you'd feel comfortable, what do you say?"_

Now, this was clearly an advance, and not in the platonic sense. But Stephanie was so sick of romantic mushiness that she couldn't care less about whether Stingy was trying to coerce or manipulate her. She just wanted to experience different right now, a place where she could vent her feelings, preferably to someone _(Having an audience tended to make her more sincere, ironically)_ who understood or sympathised with her and was willing to hear her predicament. Stingy's words began to catalyse a change in her mental composition, optimised to be marginally gradual enough to be considered too dilute to be of purposeful direction.

* * *

Sportacus was exercising. Jogging. Quickly? _Okay, Sprinting_ …The pavement pushed back against his muscular legs as he took strides comparable to an ostrich. The cool air whipped past his face, tickling his moustache slightly, while his eyes, behind the transparent shield of his goggles, oscillated laterally, scanning for any commotion requiring his assistance.

While thinking of some technical details of his exercise routine, he approached a corner in the path of the park, which lead behind a shelter block, which was parallel to a main road. Some two hundred metres away, Sportacus decided to go full hog, turbocharging his motions, accelerating to a point even elite athletes would envy. An onlooker would barely see his feet making contact with the ground, as he sprinted at top speed, with small granules of sweat streaking across his face like messy pen marks, while his hat flapped slightly from the air resistance. Yet, despite this dynamic, and all its subsequent stimuli, all his aural nerves could feed were the swift, yet homogenously timed heartbeat, and the slight chirp of a bird in the background.

Within 15 seconds, he was just about to break the corner and decelerate himself. He even did the calculations in his head, as his feet incessantly pounded the concrete.

 _5…4…3…2…1_

" _Woah!"_

In a feat of agility only matched by his accelerative capacity, he slowed down from absolute maximum momentum to a dead stop in less than two seconds. He whipped his head over the right, as his arms instinctively found themselves raised upwards, palm spread in an apologetic manner. Sportacus noticed the young brunette fumbling with a heavy satchel, which she had evidently dropped out of shock when a lightning bolt trapped in a human's body had almost collided with her.

" _Are you alright? I didn't expect anyone to be around so early. – Here, let me help you with that."_

Sportacus scrutinised her face attentively. She looked familiar, her hair stowed away neatly, wearing a purple cardigan, with some lateral stripes crossing at shoulder level. Her attire was extremely functional, light, and geared for travel. Her face wasn't local either, and her large satchel gave off the indistinguishable vibe of backpacker. _But who in their right mind would come here?_

The young woman scrutinised his face attentively. A strange, stereotypical French moustache, what seemed like a swimming cap, with a serving of goggles. A cheesy outfit, with boots that didn't brandish _running attire_ , and a elliptical shape, that seemed to clip his vest together, with a large _10_ in a bright orange flare. It was definitely an unusual outfit to wear, especially when she had expected the generic, dull outfits of any ordinary community. _This was an ordinary community…right?_ Despite all these nuances from the average person's attire, he seemed friendly enough, and _gosh he was strong_ , having hefted her weighty satchel with the swift, effortless motion of a single arm.

" _Thanks, and it's alright, I'm new around here. I just arrived from Reykjavik, I see."_

Sportacus smiled his friendly smile, once more.

" _That's where I come from! I'm Sportacus, pleased to meet you, Miss?"_

But before he finished his question, he realised the young woman had, rather subtley, ignored his query, rather fishing out a scrunched scrap of paper from a pocket deep within her bag, and handing it to Sportacus.

" _I'm coming to visit my friend, can you point me to his address?"_

Something was wrong, and Sportacus knew it. Noone ever visited this address, only auditors and the odd structural inspector dared to venture close to it. It seemed beyond belief that such an innocuous tourist would want to visit such a specific address. A million thoughts and hypotheses ran through his head, trying to make sense of what he had just read. Realising that he was still in conversation, he paused for a moment, and replied.

" _I can help. Your name Miss?"_

" _Oh, I'm sorry, I forgot, forgive me. My name is Anne. Annemarie Einarsson."_

…

" _Why are you here?"_

* * *

 _ **Thanks for reading guys.**_

 _ **PS. News is it in the fandom that LZT may be returning as an animated show. Robbie Rotten himself has hinted at a possibility of a return.**_

 _ **P.P.S Who am I kidding...**_

 _ **ZOMG IM SO EXCITED PLS NEW SEASON I WANT MOOOAR LATIBAER. THERE IS NOT A SINGLE PHRASE THAT CAN DESCRIBE HOW I FEEL, PLS NEW SEASON.**_


	17. Chapter 17

_**Chapter 17**_

 _ **Hey guys! I'm so glad I found time to write this! (No small part to the wonderful, motivating Lazytown fandom). Anyway, here it is! Read and Review, thanks :)**_

* * *

Sportacus studied the young woman standing before her, shuffling uneasily, as her cardigan rubbed slightly along itself. She was obviously uncomfortable with the question, but at least, on the one-dimensional surface of mere speech, she tried to disguise it.

" _Oh, just a friend. He's been expecting me."_

He. _Expecting?_. That was something Robbie Rotten didn't do for anyone. He never helped, respected, smiled or even talked to anyone, let alone _expect_ someone to visit him. It didn't seem right. It was only more perplexing by his boiling anger, his cheeks and gargantuan shoulders tensing at the sight of the young woman. To him, she was much more than just a mere stranger, (Although wanting to visit the town villain was already peculiar enough). Or rather, she was much less to him. But at the same time, his unwavering duty as the town hero spurred him into action.

" _Follow that main road, all the way to the edge of town, then turn left, and you'll see a disused billboard. You'll know when you get there. And so will he."_

Annemarie was puzzled. It was an oddly cosy tone for such a prominent, yet reassuring person. But, being polite, she didn't want to hold him up any longer. It seemed he had already lost kilometres of running distance anyhow, and she quickly encoded his directions, nodded politely, and set off, hauling her hefty satchel as she went.

Sportacus watched her trail off into the distance. The light footsteps and her purple cardigan slowly began to dissipate as they distanced themselves from him. Assured she was out of eyesight and earshot, he breathed out the long breath he had been withholding, and unclenched his left fist, which was now moist with sweat.

* * *

" _Hey Phil, what's going on? Why all the tape and canvas?"_

Trixie kindly, (or arrogantly, as anyone but Phillip would say) let herself into Phillip's room, where his hair was messy and his hands slightly dirty from working with the adhesives. The room smelled of fresh tape, and printed paper. The windows were opened at full width, in an attempt to expunge the stench. Phillip Barris didn't take his eyes off, as he delicately stretched the tape over another picture.

" _Oh nothing Trix, I was just making some campaign posters"_

Now naturally, such a vague and open-ended answer didn't sit well with Trixie.

" _What for?"_

" _Oh, my father's running for Mayor."_

The words slipped so cleanly and shicly off his tongue, as if such an event was merely a regularity in Phillip's life. Only, the reality defied his demeanour by light years. Mayor Meanswell had been mayor of Lazytown for as long as most of the residents could remember. There were two generations of children who had been born, only knowing about him, or rather, not knowing. Political talk was flat in Lazytown. Rather, the more pragmatic and less speculative of people allowed for a rather pleasant social climate. Milford Meanswell had been extremely effective at insulating the public from the pitfalls of politics, and the inner workings, while tackling its very core issue alone.

Milford Meanswell's political stance was slightly nudged when five years ago, Lance Barris had run for Mayor, calling out Meanswell as being backwards, a retrograde of a politician, and even a nepotist when his brother was in his office some decades ago. Lance, being such an outspoken radical, clearly lost, by a margin of 15:85, although it was the narrowest victory Milford Meanswell had achieved in some time. Trixie was fairly disconnected from politics, but at the same time, she didn't really want the status quo to reshuffle itself – Lazytown had been a delightful place to grow in. But at the same time, the Mayor did seem to appease that one person – _thing_ she couldn't withstand. Milford had been old enough to remember Number 9, and Trixie had only heard glowing stories from the more senior residents of the town. He must have been light years ahead of Sportacus, because if he hadn't, Trixie couldn't fathoim how Milford could have listened to him, let alone _praise him._ She went looking back at her boyfriend.

The two had managed to keep their bond invisible from the school. Only one with the keenest eye could spot the brief, furtive smiles. Trixie stopped watching romantic dramas anymore, they emulated reality as much as Sportacus did. Instead, Trixie had embraced what true love was. It was subjective, personal, and could not be categorised by some arbitrary criteria and standards. Phillip embodied everything Trixie truly wanted. Subtle, unspoken, mutual awareness of their issues, and the aptitude to flatten doubt and sorrow with the effortlessness of an iron. In fact, Trixie felt she had risen above the cliched kisses, the cuddling over TV shows. _What better manner to express love, than by using the most effortless way to do so?_ This new minimalist culture played hell with her previous tendency to be the tomboyish prankster, but eventually the challenger had won, smoting its foe down the side of her conscience.

Phillip had changed. He knew it. There was once a time when not a day would go past without at least some cliched flirtatious rhetoric would fall from his mouth, towards the more attractive members of his year group. His classmate, or rather, _fellow student_ , had once coined him as a _playa_. It only inflated his ego, to the point where vulnerability to a sharp intrusion was truly real, and threatened to deflate him. He had even made contact some few times, with mixed results, although he coveniently, or rather selectively, filtered out those negative feedback. The peak of his confidence had come almost two years ago, when he had semi-trapped and groped Stephanie in a cinema, resulting in a rejection that shook his foundations and ego. Of all people, he had truly believed that Stephanie would be the least likely to resist him, but alas, he had merely _scraped_ the surface of her.

And then, Trixie had entered. _Trixie_. She dared to be different, break the mould imposed on her by the civil climate, the unspoken axiom of gender identity. As if he had grown inverse to his entire endeavour to grow close to girls had overrun him, he had decided to chase after Trixie instead. Not because she was so different, but because she was so similar. Put simply, from afar, their gait, figure and clothing seemed to be exactly the same. It was often said that each hemisphere of a relationship had to espouse a certain identity, whether it be of language, clothing, and duty. Phillip was more than glad to be rid of it, and he was savouring the reward for doing so. Trixie had imported more bliss and satisfaction into his soul than even the most shallow, attractive girl ever could. Phillip had fallen for her a while back, and didn't intend to look over his shoulder. He was perfectly content with his current state, as if all elements had finally fallen into place. He was almost relaxed, even… _what was that word?_

 _You're complacent. I'm sorry Phil._

* * *

 _Ingesting_ _sugar_ _can also increase dopamine levels, which is also happens when someone ingests cocaine or other addictive drugs. This can cause a binge and withdrawal cycle and lead to a dependence on the substance. The brain thinks it is rewarding._

" _Mmmm-mm! Yummy!"_

Purple cake wasn't exactly the most common choice of afternoon snacks out there, but to Robbie, it was the highlight of the day, with sleeping being the highlight of the twilight. He grabbed a can labelled _shaving cream_ , before gently squeezing the nozzle, releasing compressed icing onto the cake. Robbie had even patented an icing formula that was twice as dense as contemporary cake toppings, but required a far stronger can to be pressurized within, hence the shaving cream can. Robbie expertly spread the cream around the edges of the purple base, the sugary substance conforming to an attractive wavy pattern as it left the can. Akin to a matured carpenter varnishing wood, he strafed his well-honed hand across the cake, intermittently adjusting pressure to draw a specific pattern, a testament to his unparalleled capacity to focus on one entity in peace.

As always however, it always had to be disrupted, just before the _pièce de résistance_ could be finished in the form of a fat, yet rather sophisticated macadamia dressing.

* * *

Annemarie was pacing around the billboard, musing at the juvenile painting that was beginning to peel from the front. It was so obvious, that Annemarie found it easier to imagine it as if it were. _Hmm. Maybe that's the purpose of it_.

Annemarie cocked an eyebrow in puzzlement, and then paced around the billboard, arriving before an intimidating blue, industrial-esque tube. The hatch was semi-circular, with an equally blue wheel adorning it, as if the painter had merely brushed over the two pieces when painting. Abandoning her satchels at the impossible distance of a footstep away, she gingerly climbed the ladder, and remembered woodwork classes from high school.

 _Lefty loosie, Righty tighty._

With that PhD level of mechanical culture, she grunted as she attempted to dislodge the wheel from its starting position. She could feel the paint chips flaking, as the hatch once again unlocked. Using her mass to leverage the hatch open, she leaned back, and almost fell from shock when the hatch suddenly expended its hinge angle. With a small gasp, and grin, she hopped down, and hefted her satchel over the aperture, and released it, before gingerly placing her feet beneath her, and sliding in, holding her nose, as it reminded her of waterslides.

The tunnel smelled of ancient metallurgy, as rivets and blue-black piping whizzed past her. She swore she heard a creak as she tumbled past a corner. Then, she caught a glimpse of light at the end of the tunnel, _literally_ , despite her best efforts to decelerate, she was catapulted by the force of gravity right into a half-suspecting number one villain, who had still been focusing on his beautiful, coherent cake.

Well, it _was_ coherent, until Annemarie bowled poor Robbie headfirst into his own icing. In fact, Annemarie was more surprised that Robbie could speak, _before_ removing his head from what was now, the corpse of a cake, albeit a very _sweet_ one.

" _That's nil-two for me then, isn't it?"_

Annemarie laughed, feeling a pang of guilt halfway through. Yes, this wasn't the first time she had disturbed the man by accidentally colliding with him. After her laugh's echo finally dissipated, an awkward silence ensued, like a thick fog. Robbie removed his head, from his cake's corpse, not looking nearly as annoyed as Annemarie anticipated, but just as damning.

Robbie's home was definitely not normal. It looked like the cellar for a giant, the ceiling was easily 5 metres above a blue steel floor. Speaking of colour, the place was extremely monochromatic, with only shades of navy and steel blue, as well as the odd purple shade. It was also extremely open too, which was ironic for a structure that was, for all intents and purposes, a miner's home, some centuries ago.

Annemarie stopped panning her head idly, and refocused on well, the focus of the room. His eyebrows were darker than the deepest of chasms, which only extenuated his emotion. Robbie had the innate and rare skill to convey a lifetime's worth of emotions in the period of mere moments. It almost _frightened_ Annemarie, yet she understood why and how it alienated him.

Yet within them, despite the seemingly dark expression, Annemarie saw something that counteracted his irritability. Something more genuine than the omnipresent mask of pervasive character that residents of Lazytown would regularly recognise. In spite of his impeccable calibre to iron out sentiments leaking from his face, his eyes tended to betray that cause. This… _other_ within him resembled the eyes of yearning dogs that Annemarie sometimes saw. And indubitably, there was only one course of action.

Disregarding the puffy white cream that clung to his nose and face, she hugged him deeply, bringing her cheek to his, feeling his body warmth radiate and coalesce with hers. It took him a while to react, in the same, minimalist manner, but his body language already spoke gigabytes anyhow. Robbie felt invaded, yet in a pleasant sense. No-one had visited his lair, let alone seen it, for years, and now, this intrusion was specifically carried out by the exact figure Robbie could not resist. They hugged for what felt like moments, despite the clock disagreeing, ticking noisily two hundred times before they parted. Robbie attempted to scramble his poker face into place, which was as effective at masking his emotion as glass.

" _You know…you ruined my cake, came down without warning; Hours of work…"_

Annemarie smiled, and gingerly scraped some cream from his ridiculously long chin, and tasted it, smacking her lips, and smiling at the spectacle.

" _Well, my mother taught me how to bake, want to cook up 'Hugely Inflated Yet Somehow Attractive Purple Cream Cake' vee two point oh?"_

Robbie huffed slightly, yet Annemarie heard agreement.

" _It's not comfortable here. There might be a bit of rust. Don't get tetanus, not pretty…"_

There, that momentary glimpse in his eyes. Annemarie saw it, as blatantly as if a clash of cymbals had sounded. Robbie's awkward gait, leaning against the railing, in front of what looked like cryogenic tubes with mannequins in them, and his slightly crossed ankles. It clearly spoke _You are staying, right?...Please?_ Annemarie even felt slightly guilty for being able to decrypt his coded messages, but simultaneously, realised it only made her sympathise, and like Robbie Rotten more.

" _It's alright Robbie. I'm staying."_

* * *

Stephanie sat quietly in one of Stingy's supremely sizeable and comfortable beds. It wasn't exactly soft or plush, but the luxurious, upper class ambience of the room, characterised by a cream leather armchair and a slight, whiff of lavender saw her body foundering in the bed as if it were water. The soft, quiet thrum of the air conditioning, at the correct theromostat, which would be adjusted to _tenths of a degree_. It was a true testament to the obsessive character. Precision, order and cleanliness, those seemed to be his friends when the others weren't around. They were friends Stephanie would hadn't met for a year.

The quality touch of the mahogany wood lining the bedside table smelled oaky, and rich, like a well-aged and optimally-brewed champagne. Of course, Stephanie only knew too well...

Aside from the tangible atmosphere within such a luxuriously appointed room, Stephanie felt at peace with her emotions, the tranquility in the eye of the storm. Here, she was shielded from the cold reality and her prying uncle. Stephanie never became truly angry at her uncle – Despite her judgement being diluted to a point of uselessness, part of her sympathetic processes remained, and she forgave her uncle for being obsessive over his niece.

One last time, she ran her left finger, and glided it across the varnished surface of the mahogany, as if it was some priceless museum piece; She only made contact for brief moments, but skimmed across the surface. It was quite an enticing feeling…

" _That's three and a half century old mahogany wood, milled from some naturally felled timber right after British colonisation. It's been varnished, naturally, but the unerlying texture, I agree, is quite attractive."_

Stephanie was surprised, almost shocked, but oddly, she waited for Stingy to casually ebb out the last of his utterance before whipping her head back, as if only then had she heard him.

Lachlan took this as a form of cue, and stepped lightly towards her, before sitting beside her, conservatively consuming a small space on the edge. Not for one moment did he take his eyes off the tormented teenager, who had remained frozen. Her mind, in its perpetual crusade to make sense of her predicament, had sapped all her energy and vigour, the natural force that had helped shape Stingy's life. It disheartened him tremendously to see it departed from his friend.

Slowly, he felt her right wrist, where the most intractable of conflicts had marred her body. With each silent moment, she released the tension accumulated within it, and her skin surface began to soften, as a portion of her suppressed emotions wordlessly flowed out. A small lock of hair fell down her face, bringing down a bundle of its compatriots. He brushed her ruined, neglected, knotted hair aside, and gently caressed the tormented bumps and scars along her wrists, feeling and decoding the texture as if it were Braille. Each stitch, each fallow and red cicatrix only compounded Stingy's sympathy even more, but more subtly, yet just as strongly, his anger. His anger that someone could do this to his friend, and the fact that this person was one he had once trusted, even been close friends with, confided secrets with, only made him more furious at Sportacus.

Stingy's heart froze, and solidified, at a temperature unanimously agreed to be practically unattainable by the scientific community. And seeing Stephanie cry and her self-injury scars was the small mallet that shattered his heart into pieces. All that remained was the cold, steely, methodical mind, but without the binding of his superego. And being methodical was extremely effective, when paired to the brilliant analytical and the coherent rationality of Lachlan Devlin. Sportacus no longer garnered any respect from him. If Stephanie's downfall was something he'd willingly do, then Stingy would reciprocate.

He would pay. And what better way than to force it than legally?

But first, Stingy had to ensure the one last loose end was fastened securely.

" _Steph…"_

She turned her head, and the two intently stared into each other's reflective eyes.

" _Retrospection is a bitch Stephanie, but we both need to ask – "Do you still love him?"_

That was it. Stephanie couldn't hold on. The diminutive ledge cracked, and splintered, abandoning her purchase, as she fell into the abyss. She cried. But it wasn't the subtle sob or the quiet, lone tear that left a shiny mark on her face. This was the full version, of the anger and emotion Stingy had not witnessed, or anyone, for that matter.

" _Stephanie, look at yourself. Have you? Listen to yourself Stephanie, there's a voice, and you're drowning it out-"_

" _Lachlan, don't do this…"_

But now wasn't the moment for emotional sympathy. Stingy had to go the extra distance.

" _I saw him this morning, just exercising normally, what he's always done. You think he trips over and cries over you?"_

" _Stop, please, I can't take it…"_

There, she was close.

" _You're fooling yourself Stephanie. You're just another piece of debris, a discarded shell of a person to him. And you still think he cares!?"_

" _No! Stop! Don't! I can't….-"_

The emotional outburst was paralleled only, and ironically when she had been weeping over Sportacus' unconscious figure a year ago. She had poured profusely, so much effort, emotion, and despair into him, to alleviate herself. This time round however, it was reversed, as if Stingy had flipped the reverse switch on the wailing vacuum cleaner that was her speech. Yet, her tears felt twice as heavy, as they ran down her face like a raging torrent, staining her already messy clothes. She placed her hands over her face, which only served to redirect the stream, as she Stingy stared on, with a motionless, stone-cold appearance.

" _I...can't do it anymore…"_

She finally arrested her flow of tears, and silently cleared her throat, all while Stingy waited, professionally wearing his poker face, while a small upturn of his lips cowered behind it. He waited for those beautiful words, to fall gracefully into his lap.

" _I wish I never loved him…"_

* * *

 **Thanks for reading _guys! I'm away for about a fortnight. If you've been following for a while, I'd highly recommend you re-read the older chapters, as I'm going to pulling bits and pieces from them to incorporate into later chapters. Thanks guys!_**


	18. Chapter 18

_**Chapter 18**_ _ **Hey guys! Don't worry, I'm not dead, I'm just overseas, and finding it hard to well...find time. But anyways, I did scrape together some silent time before dinner to get this done. As always, please read and review.**_

* * *

The school formal Lazytown wasn't subtle. Sure, there was so much sound insulation that one could hear their watch tick outside the door. The typical lasers originating from the inside silhouetted the figures of Stingy and Stephanie as they paced along to the block, Stephanie's gait slightly compromised; She hadn't worn high heels in months. Pixel had been quite reluctant to lend his portable plasma cutter, but not due to Stingy committing a break in with it, rather Pixel was anxious that Stingy would break his newest advance in condensed hydrocarbon chain fuels, and burn his cutter to a crisp. Pixel was always innocuous, and had no comprehension of context or intent. In some sense, he was just like Stephanie.

Only much less… _attractive_.

Stephanie had, chosen ( _Or suggested, strongly)_ by Stingy that she wear this pink cocktail dress. How he managed to acquire one, didn't really occur to her. The more pragmatic elements of their night were taking center stage. Part of her analytical mind had been consciously switched off, and she couldn't afford the upkeep to have it functional. She only yearned for escape from the life she lead, (Or rather, being led on) for the past year. She was completely drained of any substance, becoming another generic figure, with dark pink hair being her most distinguishable element. _Why should I care? I'm worthless anyway…_

Pixel met them. He was there just to test his new device, which streamlined the flirting process. Or rather, it circumvented it entirely, and merely siphoned the… _digitally encrypted directory for the radio transmittor and receiver through piggybacking dummy handshake signals._ Or phone numbers, in normal terms, of everyone in the room within a small radius. Stingy had called it a symbol of Pixel's hopelessness and inability to interact without being an awkward klutz. Pixel called it efficiency.

" _Guys, you think I can get close enough?"_

" _Too much tech, not enough return signals Pixel?"_

" _Lock, shut up."_

" _Hey, don't let me burst your bubble…"_

" _What?"_

In the time the two bantered over Pixel's incapacity to fraternise, only interrupted after Stephanie had accomplished an awkward amble, and had opened the door, allowing loud music to strike the two friends, who simultaneously pointed their faces to where Stephanie had entered.

" _Well, she does take the initiative…"_

Inside, the music was indeed, loud. The speakers visibly vibrated as they spat out bass at a ridiculous volume. Lasers peppered the walls, and bodies of all the dancers within. There was a seemingly out-of-place glass ornament piece attached to the back wall, which split the white lights into a myriad of hues, showering the far wall and ceiling with a rainbow. There were classmates dancing in the center, arms in the air as they followed submissively with the rhythym. Naturally, there were the more reluctant members coagulated in one corner, witnessing the action from the far wall, as they sipped from their cans of soft drink, and generally joked and bantered, while pointing to the more preposessing of their year group, generally having a more subtle form of fun.

As the group bantered, one member spoke up, only after clearing their throat of soda water.

" _Hey, you heard?"_

" _What's up?"_

" _Apparently Sporty's been invited. I think Pixel sent him a text earlier today."_

" _Well, no chance for us. Or any guy in here in any case."_

" _Truer words have never been spoken mate…"_

The two both gave off a hard-hearted laugh, slightly dipped in disappointment, before the two, in sync, sipped their drink, in a textbook attempt to disguise facial expression.

" _Seriously though, does he even know that pretty much every girl in our school swoons over him?"_

" _Girls?. Heck, there are plenty of guys here who'd like to kiss him, believe me."_

" _It's not like he'd refuse, I suppose. Would it be just a gesture or…?"_

" _Diversifying for higher rate of return?"_

" _Haha…"_

* * *

Sportacus couldn't just turn up in his hero outfit. That would be rude, unfitting for the occasion. No, a proper, black and white, well trimmed tuxedo would be perfect. He flipped his clothes cabinet, which was absolutely microscopic compared to modern standards, yet still complete, satisfying all areas of the apparel spectrum. His clothing was rather conservative in nature, discounting his hero outfit. Outside of it, other than his fancy moustache and hat, he seemed like a completely… _average_ person.

He had received a text from Pixel, _naturally_ , and was just finishing with combing the hair his swimming cap-style hat tended to ruffle into incoherent patterns.

 _Sharp._

He stopped, and stared back at his hero outfit, neatly ironed and folded, as always. He was noticing himself wearing it more often, despite prevailing incidents remaining constant. But there was another dynamic, that would be ludicrous to ignore. Wearing it, he felt safer, insulated from the chaotic world he inhabited. The feeling of speed, precision, and confidence were simply more prominent, when Sportacus wore that outfit. Robbie Rotten was up to something – he was sure of it. But who was he to disrupt anyone, regardless of who they were? Robbie hadn't tried to exile him from town for years, he had merely vanished over Sportacus' horizon. The two had rarely conversed before, but now, communication between them had flatlined. Even seeing him in public made him feel apprehensive. It was just his gait, lanky legs and enormous chin that simply made him untrustworthy. Sure, he had been harmless in the past, but this long hiatus for no apparent reason grew on Sportacus' mind every single day. And then there was Annemarie. She was on a completely different level. Definitely not harmless. Sportacus closed his eyes, and clenched his knuckles until they were white.

Foresight was a gift – One that he took for granted. Through his crystal, he could conjure a mental image of the dire situation being placed upon someone. His crystal was the crucial component in his crusade to prevent people from injury, or even death. Countless bones, muscles, and minds had been tactfully extricated from the jaws of pain. In the eyes of those thankful hearts, Sportacus was more of a superhero than anyone. His crystal, his suit, represented entirely, his detachment from the mould of a _normal – average_ person. Being forced into the dichotomy of living as a human and a superhero didn't compute. _Can someone be both?_

All his life, he had been taught how devoutly exalted superheroes were, and that humans were the lesser, vulnerable, sickly beings plagued with the wearisome drudgery of life, that needed to be saved. At least, that was how the stories went.

But Sportacus, who had once prided himself, for being a proclaimed _superhero,_ came to realise the name stripped him of his humanity. In his years in Lazytown, Sportacus had learned that humans were indeed not such simple beings, but extremely bright sentient entities that were capable of abstract thought, and great achievements. This new insight magnified his perspective of humans, and had simultaneously forced him to rethink how far above humans _superheroes_ truly were, if at all. And the latter, was banging on the castle gate into his conscience, hurling a bloodthirsty scream.

Humans were capable of everything he was. There were a handful of athletes that edged him on physical prowess, while there were several figures, mainly in the field of charity and politics, who could effortlessly out-tongue his voice, while spreading the message for fitness in numbers (through social media) that Sportacus could never hold a candle to. There were teachers and parents who engaged with children far better than he ever could. _If humans have the capacity to do such things, why call me a superhero?_

" _Sportacus, are you alright?"_

Cortana's soothing voice piped through the speakers, into his alert aural receivers. Sportacus had been unsettled for a month, his heartbeat erratic around Annemarie, and his blood pressure raised, and sometimes, he awoke at night randomly.

" _What's that young woman up to? She's been…living with Robbie Rotten. Who does that? More, she's responsible…"_

" _For…?"_

… _._

" _Everything."_

" _You know the meaning of vague, because I'm getting a serious vibe of that from you."_

…

Sportacus stiffened, and went through one last, completely unnecessary and wasteful action with his hair comb, just to avoid the incursion from Cortana.

" _Anyways, not a night to be moping around. I've forgotten what partying's like recently. I'll see you later."_

Cortana was left thinking. _Well, thinking about Sportacus, she was always thinking about something or other._ She dimmed the light, as the door sealed shut with a hiss, and then she adjusted the pressure within the cabin to compensate for the opened hatch. Without even expending any effort, she tracked Sportacus as he travelled at an inhumanly brisk pace towards the dance hall.

* * *

" _Oh, Lance, how good to see you! Vice Mayor, it's such a lovely evening! I was hoping to talk to you about something…"_

 _Crap_.

No-one in the council liked Bessie. She was the most talkative, stubborn, and obnoxious character Lance had ever met. Despite it though, they all humoured her, because only one employee within the town hall had lived to tell the tale when she lost her temper. That person was the surveillance officer, observing behind the enduring safety of a camera lens.

The click and tap of heels on a varnished floors heralded the arrival, of incoherently gossip-laden speech ( _If it qualified for that name)_ , soon to be followed by an almost obligatory and reluctant poker-face from Lance.

" _I'm glad I found you Lance, you see-"_

" _Apologies Ms Busybody, but I need to finalise some campaign logistics. Lots of permits and events to_

 _organise-"_

Faced with Bessie's hollow, uninterested stare, Lance stopped, which wasn't something that happened often, given his enormous figure. In fact, he was likely the only person in town in terms of height who was taller than Robbie Rotten. Of course, he never had that…opportunity, merely basing his claims on the occasional times Robbie climbed out of that… _hole_ in the ground.

Bessie took Lance's reply as a blank cheque for speech, and decided to recite what could've been the entire Encyclopedia Britannica, with the exact same face of thinly veiled exasperation. Then, the words that turned the lock in his ears were uttered.

" _I need you to convince Milford-"_

" _What?"_

" _Well, you see, we have property developers arriving tomorrow from England. A dashing man, like yourself, I think Robert Devlin was his name, yes. He wants to build here, and frankly, the law against expansion is so draconian, my goodness! Lazytown needs identity Lance, and I hope you can help me bring it some. We can't just have children grow up in a nameless borough, yearning to leave. We need to place ourselves on the map, otherwise this place will just rot through. You don't want to be seen governing such a place, do you?"_

For the young politician whose eyes burned with ambition, the fire within him fed with his progress for prestige, and term _careerist_ didn't serve his desires justice. His career achievements, were far less, glamorous. He had only managed to win his seat in the Lazytown Electorate by piggybacking – _sucking up_ Mayor Meanswell's archaically outdated plans to sanction all expansion within the town. Bessie Busybody however, had opened a new door for him. He was still likely to be vetoed on his push for an expansionist, money-fuelled agenda to bring more wealth into the country. But Bessie's door wasn't just another voice, she was a _personal_ voice. Lance had witnessed, despite Milford's steely defences against property developers, and wealthy entrepreneurs, he caved like a cardboard tower against her intimidating hair, which Lance swore resembled Medusa at times, coupled with the look that could transform any person into frangible stone.

When Lance had first stepped into the Town Hall on his first day, he mistook the two as a couple, before being quickly, and loudly corrected. It didn't take long for him to reason why. She was so arrogant, and loved to gossip. As a secretary, she sure was under-productive given her workload. She was far too high-maintenance for any person to consider marrying anyhow, yet she still presented herself as ' _timeless'_ to quote her directly. Phillip mentally spat, recalling the night when she had proclaimed that was so.

But this, _this_ was different. If Bessie's short sighted wants, were compatible with his ambition to gain emergent status on the political field, then why should he refuse? _This town is itching for a change in leadership anyhow._

" _Hmm, well, you do bring up a valid argument there, most in the council are going to blindly follow his lead anyhow. As much as I admire your confidence in me, my hands are ti-"_

" _Well – I never! Surely you can help me – Oh look, I'll make sure Milford opens his arms and heart to those developers, don't you mind me. But I want you to reinstate some common sense into the other members. Whatever it takes. There's a silent crisis in Lazytown Lance, can I count on your help when the time comes? On another note, he's also been neglecting me; Why would he do that? Surely the Mayor of Lazytown himself could not resist me? I mean, tell me Lance, am I not as young as I always was?"_

" _Sure, beauty is in the eye of the beholder….I'll see what I can do."_

* * *

" _Wow, a runaway success. Already a dozen numbers. Damn, my programming precedes me."_

" _Seriously Pixel, where do you find the kilometres of wire, rubber, and sheet metal to build everything?"_

" _Oh, that's binary-simple. I just buy everything from the E-Waste dump. It's all chump change anyway. Sometimes, it boggles me how clueless people are to the value of what stands amongst them. Oh well, my gain."_

Stingy laughed hard at that, as if his gizmo-wizard of a friend had intentionally made a sarcastic joke. It was laden with so much irony, he couldn't hold it in. His laugher was drowned out, thankfully, avoiding Pixel's englightenment of the situation, and having to explain why his comment was so laughable. With that, Stingy disappeared into the crowd, behind a sea of oscillating and grooving people, all of them fixated on the front, and it wasn't hard to see why.

Stephanie, who had previously been arguably the best dancer in their school, managed to match the music with flying colours. Her moves were as fluid as lamina flow water, despite having to adjust for the limited ankle articulation that high heels provided. But that was just a drop in the ocean in interrupting her dance. Each twirl and jump, synchronised with machine-like precision, the years of dedication to dancing, on display for the enthralled onlookers. On one side, the boys tried to match her, purely out of infatuation and insecurity, that she could out-dance all of them effortlessly. The girls were intertwined opposite, with most free-styling and dancing at their own pace, save a few who were green with envy and whispering jealousy-laden gossip.

Stephanie however, was consumed and dissolving in her bliss. She wasn't sure she was consciously dancing anymore, merely letting the melody, the lights and the encore cheers supplant her conscious mind. Her mindbogglingly precise, honed moves saw the most reluctant participants gravitate towards her, as their hesitation gradually eroded. For the first juncture, in almost a year, joy began to seep past her cracks. For the first time, she could enjo – _be –_ herself. So much in fact, she did not, likely the first time in several years, notice the slightly above average hero standing in the corner, his moustache covered by an opaque glass of cola – diet, naturally.

His moustache brushed against the meniscus of his drink. Instinctively, he recoiled, flicking a drop into his light, blonde hair. He watched, as Trixie put aside her differences with the pink girl, and joined in, if just for the night. Sportacus couldn't withhold a subtle grin as Trixie, in her _tuxedo_ , stepped onto the dance floor amongst the other boys, and immediately showed not all feminine stereotypes were lost on her. She even let her hair run down her head, immediately giving her a raw, wild appearance, which really embodied her dancing style. It was harsh, dynamic, and jerky, angular movements, rather than the consistent, serene stream of moves from Stephanie. That was something the boys could compete with. _Could._

The instant three guys, only one of whom Trixie recognised joined her. Expecting a dance-off, Trixie stiffened, and prepared herself for the fierce egotistic competitive streak in all guys. Sweat beaded down her face, and she blew some strands of loose hair that had manoeuvred to bar her mouth.

But instead of the fixated rivalry Trixie was anticipating, the three boys broke a cheeky smile, and imitated her style, which, for all intents and purposes, was a silent _encore_. Now that was a no-brainer proposition for Trixie, who happily obliged, breaking into another, semi-freestyle boogie, garnering the leadership over an increasing number of dancers. They witnessed a hybrid breed of two distinct dance styles alloy with one another, resulting in a dance so dissimilar, so unique to any other, that soon, Trixie and Stephanie began to unofficially compete, as two nuclei formed on the dance floor, of about equal size.

It is a fundamental principle of physics that opposite charges attract. Not here. In this one, self contained domain, reality didn't have a snowflake's chance in hell to penetrate the wall of joy, and bliss as the party went on through the night.

Then, a third party, sailed through air already thick with sound, barely missing roof-mounted lights and speakers, to land in another corner of the dance floor. While the others plied their different styles, reminiscent of various levels of training and personal experience, this newcomer to the dancing stage recaptured sizeable attention, through mere _speed_. Disrupting the duopoly, Sportacus blitzed through standing flips, twirls that generated a small hurricane, and combining elements from his workouts. Onlookers left a wide berth, and it wasn't difficult to deduce why. Sportacus' dancing prominently occupied the lateral dimension, especially when twirling his enormous legs that seemed to initiate their own pressure field.

Stingy took notice, and raised an eyebrow. Sportacus definitely knew how to capture attention – He had to concede that. And he knew that Sportacus had the stamina and willpower to maintain dancing for far longer than any human plausibly could. It made him feel insecure, how even someone as privileged, and as provided for, still could not match… _some blue hopping elf_.

There was no other word to substitute, no sugarcoating Stingy's face tension, as green visibly flooded into them.

 _He was jealous. Very jealous._ And while there was no immediate cure for such an ailment ( _For jealousy is a malicious, yet subtle disease)_ , the long term treatment lay in Stingy's right pocket.

* * *

Thanks for reading guys! I'll see you all in a week or two, depending on how much time I can coagulate. Thanks for being patient! =)


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